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FATIMA. 

A DREAM OE PASSION. 


ABI 

\ 



S. JACKMAN. 




“ O the vice within the blood. 

And the sin within the sense'l 
And the fallen angelhood. 

With its yearnings too immense 
To be understood ! ” 

—Owen Meredith. 



“ His love was passion’s essence— as a tree 
On fire by lightning ; with ethereal flame 
Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be 

Thus and enamored, were, in him, the same.” 

—Byron. 


WATERTOWN, N. Y. 




COPYRIGHTED 

BY 

ABI S. JACKMAN, 
1889. 


All rights reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER L 

The White Star of Love 7 

CHAPTER IT 

The Enchanted Stream 17 

CHAPTER III. 

Love’s Magic Kiss 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

Love’s Star Has Set 35 

CHAPTER V. 

Southern Roses 41 

CHAPTER VI. 

Love is Not a Dream . . . • 48 

CHAPTER VII. 

“My Love She Sleeps 55 

CHAPTER VIIL 

The Nightingale’s Song 63 

CHAPTER IX. 


“ O Come Again, to Me, My Love 


71 


CHAPTER X. 


“ The Violet Springs to Life ’Neath Your Feet ” . . 77 

. ^ CHAPTER XI 

“ I Dreamt that Your Heart was of Marble ” , . 83 

CHAPTER XII. 

“ ’Tis Stone, not Marble” 91 

CHAPTER XIII. 

“ We Dare not Part ” 97 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Bridge of Fire 103 

CHAPTER XV. 

‘‘ Dare You Forget?” ’ iii 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Soul’s Loss 121 

CHAPTER XVIL 

“ ’Tis the Bitterness of Death ”... ... 129 

CHAPTER XVIIL 

The End of the Dream 137 


“O Love, Love, Love ! O withering might! 

O sun, that from thy noonday height 
Shudderest when I strain my sight, 

Throbbing thro’ all thy heat and light, 

Lo, falling from my constant mind, 

Lo, parch’d and wither’d, deaf and blind, 

1 whirl like leaves in roaring wind.” 

— Tennyson. 


“ Awake, dull waters, from your sleep, - 
Rise, Love, from thy delicious well, 

A fountain ! — yea, but flowing deep 
• With nectar and with hydromel.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ Love me with thy thinking soul, 

Break it to love-sighing ; 

Love me with thy thoughts that roll 
On through living — dying. 

‘ ‘ Love me in thy gorgeous airs. 

When the world has crowned thee ; 

Love me, kneeling at thy prayers. 

With the angels round thee.” 

— Mrs. Browning. 



CHAPTER I. 


THE WHITE STAR OF LOVE. 

GIRL, half-draped, stood by the grassy bank, 
where, rippling past, with low, sweet laugh- 
ter, a silver streamlet flowed. The noon- 
day sun kissed with hot breath the volup- 
tuous form, in whose white and undulating 
limbs a passionate strength was glossed 
with gentle curves. A maple spread its emer- 
ald canopy above her head, proud in the knowledge of 
its towering beauty, and at her feet, a mighty throng 
of purple flowers lay like a fallen royal mantle. Over 
the wall against which she leaned clambered the ram- 
bling eglantine, the starry blossoms brushing her glo- 
rious face. With a soft, sighing sound the summer 
wind swept round her, a caress in its balmy breath, 
heavily laden with a wealth of sensuous bloom and 
fragrance. 

Stooping she stood, with drooping head, and eager 
lips quivering with an unborn kiss, that trembled 
down on the perfumed air and died away in silence. 
One languid hand clasped the mist-like robe over her 
rebellious bust, that the whispering wind would have 



8 


FATIMA. 


free, and the other listless hung, pink as a curled Juue 
rose-leaf. The calm, waxen lids fell over deep blue 
eyes, in whose violet depths an unfathomable tender- 
ness was shadowed. A faint flush, deepening with 
every heart-throb, mounted snowy neck and brow, as 
a tremulous sigh heaved her breast, and from the 
moist, crimson mouth came the low murmur : 

“My dream! my dream! O, beautiful vision of 
ecstacy and delight ! That one hour of bliss is worth 
a lifetime of quietness and repose. I felt his burning 
kisses on my lips, and 7ie held me close to a living, 
throbbing heart. O, Love, Love, Love ! my soul pants 
and burns to know and feel your exquisite power, and 
have the blessed vision a sweet reality !” 

She raised her eyes, now dark and glowing, up to 
meet the fearless rays of sunlight, that lay like a jew- 
eled crown upon her hair of gold. Her carved arms 
formed a wreath of whiteness, that from sheer wanton- 
ness twined each other round, and the wind in its mad 
desire, snatched at the robe, whose flowing folds but 
half concealed the quivering grace of her perfect limbs. 

“My Grod!” she whispered, passionately, while her 
swift breath went and came. “ Grive me this treasure. 
Satisfy my desire, is all I ask. My God, my shelter 
and my all, only grant me this boon. My soul hun- 
gers and thirsts for the holy gift. I will be patient, 
but — my heart ! my heart !” 


FATIMA, 


9 


She knelt, and dipped her hand into the flowing 
water, whose tiny wavelets rippled in shining rings, 
as round a sleeping lily. Her deep eyes, soft and 
luminous, with a wistful longing, seemed asking for 
something to love and cling to With each long- 
drawn, fluttering breath, her bosom rose and fell, and 
the blossoms she crushed beneath her knees sent forth 
a bewildering odor that fired the soul and intoxicated 
the brain. 

An hour passed slowly away, and still she moved 
not. The sun paler grew, and by and by its golden 
gleams melted into the pearly shades of twilight. In 
the drifting summer clouds, a single star was veiled, 
and a nightingale was flooding the mellow air with its 
song of poetry and love. 

The day was done, and the mystic shroud of eve 
had fallen over all, enfolding the earth in a mute and 
soft embrace. The voice of the sighing wind died 
away in a low whisper, as it crept amid the scented mag- 
nolia trees, and the flowers hung do\gn their heads and 
slept ; for the gentle angel of night closed their tired 
eyes and sealed them with the sparkling dewdrops. 

The very air breathed love and passion, and the 
silver throated nightingale poured forth in song its 
joys and sorrows — trembling, sweet and low, like some 
lone spirit ; now almost lost in mournful silence, and 
then bursting forth in mirth and gladness. 


10 


FATIMA. 


O, glorious southern twilight! Never did summer 
sky bend over and dome a fairer scene. Never did 
gliding streamlet wend its silver way through such a 
wilderness of bloom and sweetness. The star smiled 
down upon a land fragrant with the breath of the 
magnolia, and musical with the song of the mocking- 
bird. An invisible charm stole over the brain of the 
girl, kneeling there in the hushed and silent twilight 
hour. Thoughts, not of earth, but of something far 
more holy and beautiful, filled her soul, and Love, 
purified and glorified, surged through her heart, as, 
lifting her eyes up to the star, she whispered, while 
a smile played round her trembling lips. 

‘‘O, Star of Love, shine down upon me to-night! 
In the sacred valley of your silver-white breast, 1 see 
This face, true and brave, as in my dream. Somewhere 
on this flower-decked land, amid music and bird-songs, 
he is waiting for me. Waiting to read from the sealed 
book the lesson which my eager soul must learn, and 
whisper it in my willing ear. I will listen to you, 
my darling, though I have never heard the sound of 
your voice, for you are mine. Mine, by the burning 
kisses you pressed upon my lips when you were with 
me in my dreams. No power on earth shall ever 
part us, 0, beloved! In life we will be one, and in 
death the self-same grass shall wave above our moss- 
grown couch, hushing us in slumber deep.” 


FATIMA, 


11 


She arose, and. standing erect, stood gazing up at 
the heavens, where, here and there, a timid star was 
beginning to twinkle. Her tiexile shape seemed bend- 
ing with its own weight, and over and around her 
dimpled shoulders fell the rich stream of her warm gold 
hair. She held out both hands as if to welcome some- 
one very dear to her, and as her arms closed together 
and clasped but empty space, she turned and walked 
slowly away, the long, white robe that she wore flut- 
tering like clouds of snow, as it nestled against her 
supple limbs, so full of poetry and grace. 

The nightingale’s song grew low and sad; then 
ceased. The dewdrops trembled down on her shim- 
mering hair, and fell shining to the ground. A crim- 
son breasted bird flew by like a flash of flame in the 
calm star-shine, and still she wandered on, scarce 
knowing where she went, so absorbed was she in her 
magic dream, whose meaning was as yet a sealed and 
hidden mystery. 

She reached a lake, that, sleeping ’neath the rays of 
starlight, seemed mocking all that was not fair and 
peaceful. Pure, white lilies, with golden hearts, re- 
clined upon the water’s bosom, and, kneeling down 
until her face was reflected in the burnished mirror, 
she whispered : 

‘‘ Awake, still waters, from your long sleep, and tell 
me if my true love’s face is hidden away down deep. 


12 


FATIMA, 


under your singing wavelets and tranquil, slumbering 
lilies. 0, I wish that I might see him, just for one 
little moment !” and she bent eagerly forward, half- 
expecting to behold a pair of dark, tender eyes gazing 
into her own. Her parted lips, wet and red as some 
Orient fruit, seemed waiting for a lover’s passionate 
kiss to seal them in contentment once again. Her 
deep eyes, dreamy with maiden longings, gazed out 
over the sheet of still water, seeing in its depths gor- 
geous visions of what life would be when the dream 
was no longer a dream, but a living realization. 

Nay, not a realization, as she fondly believed, but a 
wild, feverish delusion, cursed with the damning Hell 
of an unholy love, that in after years would suffocate 
and torture, crushing her down through the livelong 
days, and mocking her in slumber at night. Better 
for her hot, throbbing heart, whose fiery blood, surg- 
ing through every vein like an overpowering tempest, 
had it ceased its beating when the innocence and pur- 
ity of childhood lay lightly upon her fair young brow 
and in her sweet baby eyes, for she was one to whom 
much love might prove death. Her beautiful form was 
but her soul in flesh ; and the worship she felt for one 
seen only in her dreams, was like a rushing stream of 
liquid fire. 

“ Love me, darling!” she whispered, softly, clasp- 
ing both hands over her breast. ‘‘O, love me, or I 


FATIMA, 


13 


shall die ! Kueelingat your prayers, think of me and 
love me. Through life, through death, forget me not, 
for above the sound of angel voices, I heur you call- 
ing to me, and I will obey! And when the world 
shall bow before you, as I do now, love me still !” 

Long she knelt there by the lake, scarce breathing, 
but listening — mutely listening for his step, and pray- 
ing that she might hear the sound of his voice. The 
pitying water-lilies lifted up their heads and gave all 
their looks to heaven. The nightingale flooded lake 
and glen with a silver song, and then finding its notes 
held no meaning for the young girl, turned its restless 
throat and sang : “ Love is Lord of all.” 




‘ Last night I wasted hateful hours 
Below the city’s eastern towers : 

I thirsted for the brooks, the showers : 

I roll’d among the tender flowers : 

I crush’d them on my breast, my mouth ; 

I look’d athwart the burning drouth 
Of that long desert tc the south.” 

— Tennyson. 


“ With gurgling murmurs sweet, that teach 
My soul a sleep-distracting dream. 

Till on the marge I lie, and reach 
My longing lips towards the stream.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ That door could lead to hell? 

That shining merely meant 
Damnation ? What ! She fell 
Like a woman, who was sent 
Like an angel, by a spell ?” 

— Mrs. Browning. 


‘ I have seen her, with her golden hair. 

And her exquisite primrose face. 

And the violet in her eyes ; 

And my heart received its own despair — 

The thrall of a hopeless grace. 

And the knowledge of how youth dies.” 

— Owen Meredith. 





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17 


FATIMA, 


CHAPTER II. 

THE ENCHANTED STREAM. 

EN thousand glittering drops of dew kissed 
growing shrub and leaflet, that fair, sweet 
ammer morn, and upon the jeweled grasses, 
le sun calmly smiled. One hot, unwinking 
ly fell full on the flower-like face of Fa- 
a as she lay under the shade of a gently 
waving willow, whose lithe boughs formed a soft, green 
twilight o’er her, and the whispering wind of early 
dawn stole near each round limb that now seemed made 
for repose. As she reclined there, every line of her 
perfect form clearly revealed, she was the ideal sleep- 
ing Queen of Love, waiting for the magic touch to 
send a thrill of exquisite joy and sorrow through every 
stirring vein. tShe knew, this warm-hearted southern 
girl, that bliss is not perfect bliss until .’tis blended 
with perfect pain, and so with languid grace and 
drooping lids, she was waiting — waiting for the hour 
when the madness and pleasure of passion would color 
in deep, rich shades the pure light of her life. 



18 


FATIMA. 


The sun shone through a haze, and the dewdrops 
v^fnlshed. Beyond the veil of mist she saw a vision of 
the future. It was as if one artist’s hand had painted 
from her face and life two antithetic pictures : one, 
the face of an angel, spotless, calm-browed and holy, 
with Heaven’s golden crown upon her head ; the other, 
that same angel face, but fallen, and her temple bound 
with thorns, yet informed with mighty power, and in 
her veins burned an all-absorbing lire — veins that once 
the cool, quiet tide of etherial life tinted with trans- 
lucent beauty. And still she heeded not the warning ! 

She was all alone in the world, and over her head but 
twenty-one summers had lightly drifted. Her life had 
been passed in the midst of alluring southern bloom and 
sensuous fragrance, and of the great wide world she 
knew naught. On that June day, twenty-one years 
ago, when she first opened her eyes to the light, over the 
face of the sun there swept a shadow, and the magno- 
lias, hushed and awe-stricken, mayhap knew what fate 
lay before the helpless babe, left alone, surrounded by 
wealth and grandeur, and yet, alas ! alone ; and when 
she slept. a sad-voiced nightingale would come, and, 
perching upon the broad window-ledge, sing the little 
motherless one a tender, sweet song, hushing her 
slumbers. Then, as she older grew, she would lie for 
hours listening to the bird’s soothing notes and watch- 
ing one large star, that always shone in through the 


FATIMA. 


19 


window kissing with silver lips her couch. Night 
after night the star twinkled on, and when summer 
came again she would reach up her hands and lisp : 

“My star. Grod bless my star,” and it seemed as 
though the star knew and understood well what the 
years to come held for the baby. Even now it watch- 
ed over her, and she — ah, she had forgotten both the 
star and the nightingale in the vision that was, as yet, 
only a feverish dream ! 

She leaned out over the stream, and as she beheld 
her beautiful arms reflected in the dancing water, she 
bent her head, pressing her lips to the soft, warm flesh. 
The touch of her own mouth on her arm sent a raptur- 
ous thrill through her, and she murmured aloud : 

“O, Love, why are you waiting, when I need you 
so ? Day after day have I longed for your presence, 
and my soul hungers and thirsts to feel your kiss on my 
lips, and your head lying upon my breast that throbs 
but for you. O, I want you, I want you, I want you !” 

She dipped her hand into the flowing waters, and 
fancied their caressing touch was his fingers clasping 
her own, and kneeling thus, with closed eyes, she 
dreamed a dream — a wondrous, thrilling dream, in 
which she saw her mysterious, unknown lover, and her 
eager ear drank in the music of his tender words, while 
her heart beat madly when she felt his hot breath fan 
her cheek, and all was joy ! 


20 


FATIMA, 


She dreamed she stood before a gate of pearl, and 
the one she loved was close beside her. She saw be- 
yond those gleaming walls, a great, white throne, 
where a band of holy angels weeping stood, as re- 
proachfully* they gazed upon her. She beheld one 
face, pale but beautiful, and the whispering echoes of 
the wind said : ‘‘’Tisthy mother, O, erring child !” 
and even as the sad voice died away in a mournful 
wail, she reached out her hands to join that mother, 
but Ms arms held her closely to him, and she forgot 
Heaven and angel mother in the bliss of his embrace. 
As she turned and clung to him, many voices went up 
in a sob of anguish, but she gazed into his eyes, and 
the shadows vanished. 

Hand in hand they traversed a long, wide pathway, 
thickly strewn with the sweetest of flowers, and every- 
where birds sang gaily, and as they wandered on, the 
fragrance from bud and blossom grew more bewilder- 
ing and enchanting. The nightingale that always 
lingered near her, sang of love, and only love. She 
forgot that there were others in the world — she forgot 
Heaven and Hell — all and everything but the man who 
was leading her on through alluring flowers and mad- 
dening perfume. On — on — on ; but where, O, God ! 
where ? 

But to her it mattered little whither he led her, for 
any place with him was a Paradise. She heeded not 


FATIMA, 


21 


the warning voice of bird and sighing wind, but 
through the brightness of the day and the shades of 
the falling night she followed him, living in his smiles 
as a flower lives ’neath the warm rays of sunlight, 
whose light means bounding life, but whose shadows 
mean withering death. 

But night was near, and in the gathering twilight 
they pause, and fix their eyes on the distant horizon 
in the far west, where a lurid sunset burns. A low, 
weird burst of music reached their ears, and then a 
voice, thrilling and wild in the intensity of its emo- 
tion, began to sing, and every word found echo in the 
two passionate hearts that beat so near each other, 
and, for the moment, calm reason overshadowed blind 
love. Sad and hopeless the floating words, but still 
full of truth and meaning, and rightly named was the 
song when ’twas called “Two Pictures,” for they 
were indeed vivid pictures of a sad-eyed angel, and a 
lost soul : 


“ I sat in the gathering shadows, 
And I looked to the west away, 
Where the hand of an unseen artist 
Was painting at close of day, 

A strange and beautiful picture, 
That filled my soul with awe. 
And made men think of the city 
No mortals ever saw. 

“ ‘Paint me, O wonderful artist,’ 

I cried, when the shadows came, 


22 


FATIMA. 


And hid the marvelous glory 
Of the western hills aflame — 

‘ Paint me the face of an angel !’ 

And lo ! before my eyes 
Was the face of my sainted mother, 

Who dwells in Paradise ! 

“ ‘ Paint me the face of a sinner !’ 

A darker shallow swept 
Down the hills, and I thought in the twilight, 

The unseen artist wept ; 

And lo ! from a magical pencil 
A face in a moment had grown. 

The sad, white face of a sinner, 

And I knew it for my own !” 

With a shuddering, sobbing cry, the song ceased, 
and conscious of one thought only, she clung to him, 
nestling close to his breast, living but for his caresses. 
His burning kisses drew her very life from her soul 
into his, and trembling wirh joy in her dreams, she 
slept on. 

Hour after hour passed by on noiseless wings, and 
still the love-drugged slumber was not broken. The 
sun hotter grew, and through the parting willows a 
man’s face peered. A face that a woman could not 
fail to love, even though she well knew that it meant 
shame and dishonor, for the dark eyes, in which lay 
a gleam of sadness, looked their way straight into 
every warm, beating heart, and there found a restand 
a refuge that never once wavered, but stronger grew, 
until heart and soul lived and throbbed in love ’neath 


FATIMA, 


23 


his glances, as the tropic sun draws from some pas- 
sion-laden flower an alluring perfume, that, like in- 
visible incense, steals drowsing o’er the brain. 

‘‘ ’Tis the face I have dreamed of all my life !” he 
cried, when he beheld the sleeping form. “ Year after 
year have I waited to meet her, and now, when youth 
is dead, and all will be in vain, I see her so near, and 
yet, O God, so far removed from me ! O, my beauti- 
ful one, my own, for in the sight of the angels you 
are mine, I must look into your eyes, and hear you 
speak. Let the years — all the weary years of the 
past, with its hideous memories — be blotted out ; for 
if death stared me in the face, I would waste my last 
breath in one kiss on your lips. I would clasp you 
close to my breast, and go through seas of fire, for the 
pleasure of feeling you near me, and even would I 
brave the furies of Hell for your sake, my darling;” 
and, as he ceased, like an untamed, sorrowful heart 
in its last despair, the nightingale burst forth in the 
song that stifled its throat. 


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“ Love be thy theme ! Sing her awake, 

My harp, for she hath tamely slept 
In Wolfram’s song a stagnant lake 
O'er which a shivering star hath crept. 

“ And feel, in that immortal kiss 

His mortal instincts die the death, 

And human fancy fade beneath 
The taste of unimagined bliss !” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ O eyes long laid in happy sleep ! 

O happy sleep, that lightly fled ! 

O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep ! 

O love, thy kiss would wake the dead !” 

—Tennyson. 


Here is the little rivulet where she stopped ; 

And here the greenness of the grass shows where 
She lingered through it, searching here and there 
Those daisies dear, which in her breast she dropped.” 

— Owen Meredith. 




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FATIMA, 


27 


CHAPTER HI. 



LOVE S MAGIC KISS. 


N atmosphere of pleasure seemed around 
the form of the sleeping maid, and a soft 
glow, mild as the summer wind, breathed 
kissed the tinted bosom’s val- 
ley. Her heart seemed beating through 
her rosy limbs, that like timid flowers were 
seen blossoming beneath her robe, longing, yet half 
afraid to show themselves when Love was near, waving 
in triumph his ardent pinions. 

Her whole being was trembling and quivering, as 
though in her slumbers she felt the presence of the 
lover of her dreams. Soft and frail, and with a beau- 
tiful humility, her parted lips, balmy and crimson as 
a rose, were gently moved as each fragrant breath 
passed through their portals. A smile, like a dash of 
tropic sun on the breast of gleaming Alpine snow, 
lay on her face, and her sleep was like a calm sea 
’neath a burning star, whose hot rays had warmed the 
quiet waters, until in their tumultuous tossing, they 


28 


FA TIMA. 


awakened the sea-nymphs from their rest on coral beds 
under the bending sea weeds. 

In silence the unseen lover stood, gazing breathlessly 
upon the wondrous form of the sleeper. From head 
to foot his eye w^andered, led along by the curves of 
beauty, rich and rythmical, that were so plainly re- 
vealed, w^hile she dreamed of wonderful scenes whose 
depths were peopled with gorgeous shapes and visions 
of sensual beauty and brilliancy. 

He was now bending low over his beloved, scarce 
daring to breathe, but gazing passionately into her 
face, until his intense glance must have entered and 
stirred her soul, for she moved. Then he knelt, and 
whispered : 

^‘My darling! my darling! awake from your slum- 
ber. Look into my eyes, and raise your sweet lips 
to meet my own. The mere sight of your mouth 
makes me wild. I wish that I might die, trembling 
my soul away in one long kiss upon your perfect lips. 
Die, with my head lying close, close to your breast, 
and my last word the echo of your name !” 

His head lower drooped, and his hot breath fanned 
her cheek. Her heaving bosom rose and fell raptur- 
ously, and at last the dark locks were mingled with 
the gold. Softly, reverently, as one approaches some 
sacred shrine, his lips met her’s, and clung there in 
one long, burning kiss, that held all the sweetness and 


FATIMA. 


29 


blessedness of Paradise, and the fire and fury of Hell ! 

A moment he knelt there by her side, every nerve 
thrilling and throbbing in bliss, and the blood bound- 
ing and tingling through his whole form, and then, as 
a tremulous sigh fell from her lips, he sprang to his feet 
and stepped back in the shade of the willows, whose 
branches w’ere casting wavering lights and shades over 
the fair face of the girl who had been aroused from 
her sleep by the magic kiss of love ! 

Slowly the large blue eyes opened, and then closed 
again. Once more the white lids fluttered, and, as a 
sudden tremor swept over her, she arose, and pressing 
one hand to her brow in a bewildered manner, mur- 
mured : 

“Did I dream, and now awake? or am I dreaming 
now ?” and she gazed up at the sun, whose rays knew 
all. Suddenly she started, and covering her flushed 
face with both hands, cried : 

“No, no, no ! ’Tis not a dream ! O Love, your kiss 
has left its imi)rint on my lips. It burns there yet. 
O, eyes, long laid in sleep, why did you not open and 
behold him ? O, lips, unfeeling and unresponsive, 
why did you silent be when he was bending o’er me, 
filling my soul with bliss even though I slept ? But 
why did he leave me here alone \ Ah ! surely he must 
love me. and yet why has he gone? O sun, where 
shall I seek him ? O summer sky, bend down and 


30 


FA TIMA. 


tell me if he is near f ’ and, as her gaze fell upon the 
meek-eyed daisies ’neath her feet, she sank upon her 
knees, and, plucking one with a heart of gold, she 
cried : 

“ Ah ! you pretty daisy, you shall tell me if he truly 
loves me, or if ’tis but a fancy and her supple lin- 
gers commenced pulling the delicate leaves from about 
the daisy’s heart, as eagerly watching their downward 
course to the ground, where they lay in a tiny trail of 
whiteness, she cried : 

“He loves me! he loves me not!’' and when the 
last leaf dropped from her hand, she laughingly cried : 

“ He does love me. Daisy, you did speak the truth. 
I know he is near. Mayhap, if I should sleep again,, 
he would come and arouse me from my slumber. I 
would die here by this stream if I thought he would 
kiss me, for his touch would bring me back from death 
to life. O, let slumber sweet press down my eyelids 
now, and he will come !” and she sank back upon the 
grass, that yet bore the impress of her form, and pil- 
lowed her head on the daisies. 

Sweeter the wind murmured to her, like the song of 
the nightingale, charming a rose bower, in whose 
balmy fragrance all the poetry and delight of a life 
were riven. Then as it sighed and died away in broken 
trills, ’tw^as the echo that comes at evening's close, 
when a solemn silence broods o’er flower and bird,. 


FA TIMA. 


31 


while emerging from the mist-like shadows, float with 
a sylph-like grace, the ones whom our thoughts dwell 
with, even though our arms have long since ceased to 
enfold them here, for love can never die ! ’Tis the 
curious blending of lights and shades, which, melting 
into one grand, glorious harmony, makes earth a Par- 
adise and the grave a Hell, because death rends asun- 
der warm, clasping arms, and submerges beautilul 
human passion in the far away and dim clouds of 
eternity ! 




A 


“ Last night when some one spoke; his name, 
From my swift blood that -went and came 
A thousand little shafts of flame 
Were shiver’d in my narrow frame. 

O, Love. O, fire ! once he drew 
With one long kiss my whole soul thro’ 
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.” 

— Tennyson. 


“ Whose waves leap upwards to the brink 
With drowning kisses to invite 
And drag me, willing, down to drink 
Delicious draughts of rare delight.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ For a tear from those dark, deep humid orbs 

’Neath their lashes, so long, and soft, and sleek. 
All the light in your lustrous eyes, absorbs. 

As it trembles over your cheek.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


’Tis not a dream,” she murmur’d, gazing out 

Upon the drooping flowers all moist and wet, 

Artd she brush’d from the passion-flower the dew, 

“ Nay, not a dream, for Love’s star has set.” 

— Author. 









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FATIMA. 


85 


CHAPTER IV. 



LOVE S STAR HAS SET. 

IKE a shower of quivering silver shafts, 
the uncertain moonbeams fell around the 
dead-gold hair and exquisite face of 
Fatima as she leaned against one of the 
carved white pillars that supported the wide 
veranda of Magnolia Hall, over which the 
climbing loses and twining passion-flower crept. So 
perfectly motionless did she stand, that but for the 
vivid crimson of her mouth, and the moving shades 
of her hair, one would have thought her a statue, 
whose marble form no warmth or life had ever enter- 
ed. Listless she stood a moment, and then, with a 
soft sigh of ecstacy, murmured : 

“ His name — how sweet it sounds to my ears. Last 
night, when someone uttered the beloved word, I knew 
of whom they were speaking long before I asked them. 
In the midst of lights, music and gaiety, my thoughts 
were wandering back to the moment so filled with 
bliss, when he sought and found my soul with the en- 


36 


FATIMA, 


chanting touch of his lips. O, I must see him again ! 
My lips are like the burning sunlight, waiting for the 
heavenly drops of dew to fall and quench the fire!” 
and she held botn hands over her breast, as though she 
fain would stifle the tumultuous throbbing of that 
wild young heart. 

sudden gust of longing swept over her, like a 
raging tempest that drives all before it. She sprang 
from the step where she stood, and ran like a deer 
through the grove of magnolias, whose flower-laden 
branches ceased their mysterious murmuring as they 
looked down in mute surprise at the white-robed form 
flying on through the shadows of the southern night. 
A timid dove, aroused from its quiet sleep, cooed 
softly as it peered with bright eyes at the vision that 
darted swiftly past its chamber of rest ; and, far off, 
as if in warning, a night-bird wailed piteously. 

Panting and breathless, and with limbs quivering 
in emotion, she reached the willow-fringed streamlet, 
and sinking upon her knees, bent forward, crying out : 

‘‘I shall see your face, my own, in the depths of 
this gliding water. I shall hear your voice in the 
music of its song, and your arms will enfold me to 
your true, brave bosom, that I know is pulsating some- 
where near me, O, Love I ’Tis not a dream, for all is 
now revealed. Not a dream, O thank God, but a 
grand, glorious reality ! Be patient, wayward heart. 


FATIMA. 


37 


for the time is not far distant when you will know and 
understand all, and, in happiness and joy complete, 
life will begin anew ! Victor ! Victor !” 

She repeated his name twice, gazing down into the 
water with her eager, love-lit eyes, her lips moving as 
if parted in silent prayer, when suddenly she beheld 
the face seen in her dreams reflected in the clear stream 
beside her own. A maddening thrill, half joy, half 
pain, shot through her entire frame, and then she felt 
herself lifted up, and clasped within the shelter of 
strong, true arms. Close, close to a heart whose throbs 
she could plainly feel against her own, she was pressed, 
while everything grew blank, and she fancied that 
death had come to her with her love. Then con- 
sciousness came slowly back again, and sobbing in 
very joy, she clung to him, never speaking — not even 
looking into his face — but happy, O ! so happy in feel- 
ing his arms about her, and his breath fanning her 
cheek. 

"'My love ! my love!” he whispered, “for you are 
mine. We have met at last. When you slept I knelt 
and kissed your sweet lips, and the seal I set upon 
your mouth made you my own until the hour of death. 
Aye, and even when life is no more, we will love each 
other. For you do love me. I heard you call my 
name aloud, and I knew you wanted me, so I came to 
you. Your sacred resting place is my heart. Promise 


38 


FATIMA. 


me, darling, that you will never leave it for another ; 
for surely God made us for each other, else why 
should we meet so strangely?” 

Closer she clung to him, softly weeping, now that 
the tierce, wild storm of passion was gone, and in its 
place came the soothing calm. Soft, tranquil sobs 
convulsed gently her swaying foim, and the long, 
silken lashes were jeweled with tears. 

Firmly, yet tenderly, her lover raised her face up 
to his, and pressed one deep, lingering kiss on her 
lips ; and in that kiss she felt that heart, soul and 
honor lay forever in his hands. She was powerless to 
resist ; and as it all rushed over her, with a low, pant- 
ing cry, she broke from his clasping arms, and ran, tear- 
ful and breathless, until she reached her home, where, 
sinking down behind the passion-flower, she murmured: 

“’Tis not a dream! Nay, not a dream, for Love’s 
star has arisen and set ! It has come into my life, the 
great, wonderful mystery, and never, never, will it go 
forth again, leaving me alone, but brighter and clearer 
it will glow, and when death comes, it will still shine 
on, lighting up the dark pathway, driving away all 
doubts and fears. At last 1 At last !” And she gazed 
dreamily out upon the flowers all moist and wet with 
the silvery dew, while the passion-flower shook and 
trembled ’neath her touch, and the dove cooed plain- 
tively, swaying to and fro in the star-shine. 


‘ Before he mounts the hill, I know 
He cometh quickly : from below 
Sweet gales, as from deep gardens blow 
Before him, striking on my brow. 

In my dry brain, my spirit soon, 
Down-deepening from swoon to swoon, 
Faints like a dazzled morning moon.” 

— Tennyson. 


“ Who careless drink, as knowing well 
^ The happy pastime shall not tire, 

For Love is inexhaustible. 

And all unfailing my desire.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


She stood with roses in her snow-white hands, 
Great blood-red roses still wet with silver dew ; 
And she loved them better than gold or lands, 

For they came from hhn so brave and true. 

— Author. 


‘ ‘ Half the night I -waste in sighs. 

Half in dreams I sorrow after 
The delight of early skies ; 

In a wakeful daze I sorrow 
For the hand, the lips the eyes. 

For the meeting of the morrow, 

The delight of happy laughter. 

The delight of low replies.” 

— Tennyson. 


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FATIMA. 


41 


CHAPTER V. 



SOUTHERN ROSES. 

It was night ; and o’er gleaming pillar and 
marble statue fell the trembling, lumin- 
ous moonbeams, lingering lovingly near 
the crystal waters of the fount, whose 
echoes rang loud and clear, and then fall- 
ing in wavering, uncertain shadows upon the 
white-robed form of Fatima, standing in the midst of 
the dew-gemmed roses. One royal, crimson spray 
nestled tenderly against her soft cheek, and over the 
snowy brow drooped a cluster of the pure white buds 
and blossoms, all moist and glittering with the silver 
dew. 

Like a dainty moveless dream, close to the water’s 
edge, with the jeweled rays of moonlight falling upon 
the white, uplifted arms, giving them a warm, life-like 
flush, is a marble figure, so perfect that one expects to 
see it step down from the pedestal, and like fabled 
Galatea break the icy spell of unfeeling marble, and 
come to life, breathing long, exquisite breaths of 
bliss and love. Serene and beautiful it stood among 


42 


FATIMA. 


the starry lilies and whispering water-willows, and the 
low murmur of the night wind seemed like an endless 
sigh of ecstacy and contentment. 

Breathles and trembling in her newly-found joy, 
Fatima is waiting for her lover, her hands filled with 
great blood-red roses, that he had sent her at early 
morn. When she slept, she dreamed of him : when 
she awoke from her slumbers, the first thing she 
beheld was the dewy beauties by her bedside, and hid- 
den in their perfumed leaves a note, breathing love 
and passion. The tiny note, she placed over her 
heart: the roses, she held now in her hands, ever and 
anon pressing them to her breast, where they left a 
crimson stain that looked like blood. 

“You darlings,” she whispered, hiding her face in 
the mass of fragrance and sweetness. “ I w^ould not 
exchange you for all the gold in the wide world. He 
has held you in his hands. His eyes have looked their 
way into your hearts, as they have in mine. And I, 
dearly as I love him — dare not raise my eyes and 
meet his ardent gaze. O, I have knelt by the stream 
of love, and drank long, delicious draughts that 
bewildered my brain ! And yet I am not satisfied!” 
and starting, she listened eagerly, as a footstep near 
by sounded upon the grassy turf. 

“ He is coming !” she cried. “O, heart stop your 
frightened beating ! O, limbs cease your tremulous 


FATIMA. 


43 


throbbing, for ’tis only my own, true love! He is 
coming to whisper sweet words that long have I wait- 
ed to hear!” and the moonlight darkened as he 
appeared upon the scene ! 

He came, and knelt beside her, for she sank down 
on a low rustic seat, over which a blossoming oleander 
drooped. He knelt, and drawing her toward him, 
pillowed the golden head on his breast, kissing the 
upturned face passionately, while he murmured : 
‘‘My queen! My queen! Long, long years have I 
dreamed of this hour, the sweetest on earth to me. 
You, darling, have been waiting for me, and I know 
that no man’s lips ever met yours, in love, for did not 
your heart whisper to you, that somewhere, on this 
sorrowful earth, one was living — breathing but for your 
sake? Speak, love, why are you so silent?” 

She raised her head, and gazed into a pair of eyes, 
deep-set as stars that pierce the midnight gloom of 
storms, and superhuman in their mystic, luminous 
glow. As in a shadowy mirror sought by feverish 
eyes, for a glimpse of the future, and at last discerned 
by the seeker — so through this world-tortured and 
love-consumed soul, she saw what her life must be, 
and, unresisting, gave herself up to the wild dream of 
passion. 

And he — watching the lights and shades come and 
go upon her face — saw a tremulous and spiritual glit- 


44 


FATIMA, 


ter of what might have been, had he never crossed her 
pathway. Saw plainly, as though her life had been 
lived and ended, the beginning, pure and holy ; then 
the bitter end, where a spirit that had become so 
stained and colored with a subtle, insatiate passion, 
that neither the glories of Heaven, nor the furies of 
Hell, could separate her from her idol And he, with 
his magnetic power and concealed life was to be this 
idol ! 

His trembling fingers pressed fnintly and slowly 
adown her face, and her hand lay like the fallen leaf 
of a flower upon his shoulder. In her hidden, down- 
cast eyes, a half-veiled light burned with a rising 
lustre. A moonbeam struck across her balmy, crimson 
mouth, and the low wind toyed with the scented 
tresses of her hair. 

"'Love, you are like an exquisite music chord, in 
which a thousand wondrous harmonies are blent in 
one, that strikes upon the soul, now like a burst of 
Heaven’s own song, and then all the eloquence of 
earth appears in the refrain, and deep, deep, in my 
being, never to leave it more, the precious, echo finds a 
home. Love, when death shall seek one of us, will it 
be long ere we meet?” and as he asked that last 
question all the roses shook as if in grief, until like 
tears the dewdrops fell from their hearts, and in silent 
pity the stars shone on, never uttering a note of warn- 


FATIMA. 


45 


ing, and still knowing all ! Even over the marble face 
of the statue, listening to those love-vows, there 
swept a look of pain, and ’neath the mellow rays of 
moonlight, a life-like quiver convulsed her cold limbs 
as though the words of tire and passion had struck a 
responsive chord in her pulseless breast, and the crys- 
tol fount tossed and tinkled as it rose and fell, half 
in joy, half in sorrow ! 






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“ The wind sounds like a silver wire 
And from beyond the noon a fire 
Is pour’d upon the hills, and nigher 
The skies stoop down in their desire ; 

And isled in sudden seas of light, 

My heart pierced thro’ with fierce delight, 
Bursts into blossom in his sight.” 

— Tennyson. 


‘ ‘ Love’s fountain marge is fairly spread 
With every incense flower that blows, 

With flossy sedge, and moss that grows 
For fervid limbs a dewy bed.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


’Tis night, and silence and sleep o’er the dreaming flow’rets fell. 

Like a spirit robed in white thro’ the dew-genfmed grass she pass’d, 

While o’er the murm’ring water sounded a lone, sad bell. 

And the stars caught the whisper’d words : “ Love, I have come at last. 

— Author. 


“ A shadow flits before me. 

Not thou, but like to thee : 

Ah, Christ, that it were possible 

For one short hour to see 

The souls we loved, that they might tell us 

What and where they be.” 

— Tennyson. 


48 


FATIMA. 


CHAPTER VI. 



LOVE IS NOT A DREAM. 

HRo’ the rose-scented shadows of the early 
twilight she passed, the light sound of 
her footsteps floating up to a lone night- 
ingale, who, singing a low, sad strain to its 
mate, stopped the melody as it rippled forth 
from its throat and watched the young girl, 
who was going to meet her lover. She smiled as she 
thought of his loving words and caresses, and on past 
the fountain where he always awaited her coming, she 
went. 

She paused at a lonely grave, where a mocking-bird 
sang amid the flowering boughs of a magnolia all the 
long day, and a timid dove slept and dreamed at night. 
She knelt by the grassy mound, and, lifting her eyes 
up the star that her baby eyes had so often sought, 
she whispered reverently : 

‘‘My star! God bless my star and ray mother’s 
grave 1” 

Ah ! she was not the same Fatima of a few short 
hours ago, who cried aloud for love to come into her life. 


• FA TIMA, 


49 


and as she raised her eyes up to the dome of Heaven, 
all the holiness and purity of her lustrous and glori- 
ous soul shone through that frail mask of clay. That 
face was now like a snow-white lily in its pure ardor, 
and if God had sent her angel mother down from 
above with the message of death concealed ’neath her 
snowy wings and in her kiss, it would have been well. 

'^Mother,” she uttered the name softly, reverently, 
and with a strange light in her eyes, “Mothei*, do 
you know how happy I am ? Can you see how he 
loves me? How, without him, all would be desolate? 
And do you feel hurt because he is first in my heart ? 
Remember that I never saw your face, and he has 
grown to be a part of my life;” and as a wild, luxuri- 
ous thrill shot through every nerve, she sprang to her 
feet, and never casting one single look back upon the 
grave, ran swiftly on through the^till sweetness of the 
night to where she knew he awaited her. 

I am coming. Love,” she cried, I felt in my beat- 
ing heart that you were there by the fount, and all the 
angels and saints in Paiadise could not keep me from 
your side ! ” 

On, on she hastened, over the dew-wet grasses, her 
white robe gleaming in the midst of the shrubbery 
like enchanted clouds of snow, and her hair blowing 
back from her brow like a golden sail. Far away in 
the dim distance she could hear the low, sad tolling of 


60 


FATIMA. 


a bell, that rose and fell on the night air like the de- 
spairing voice of a lost soul, doomed for evermore to 
loneliness and desolation. But she beheld him, the 
one whom she loved so well, and in joy she reached 
out her hands to him, and the stars caught the echo of 
the words : 

'•Love, I have come at last,’' and up beyond the 
star-shine, in realms, of endless beauty, forg<jtten, alas ! 
by her wayward child, dwelt the angel mother ! 

He looked into her face with his dark, glowing eyes, 
and she would have laid down her life for him at that 
moment. He kissed her lips, and she could have cried 
aloud for the heavenly blending of bliss and anguish 
that swept over her. 6he lifted her mouth up to him, 
and as his lips again met hers, she said, half-sobbing: 

"I went to my mother’s grave to-night, and kneel- 
ing by it, I think, nay, I know that I was a better 
woman. A glimpse of Heaven was shown me, and in 
the calmness and peace of the hour, I seemed to be a 
child again. Then like the flash of flerce lightning 
that rends the summer sky asunder, the memory of 
what you are to me, rushed like a whirlwind over 
my waking soul, and I forgot my mother in Paradise !” 
and here her voice died away in a gasping cry, and 
then rose up shrill and strained : 

" And I forgot my God ! Aye, forgot that he held 
my life in his hands. O Christ forgive me ! Tell me 


FATIMA. 


51 


of my angel mother ! Send her to me now ! I need 
her hand on my face ; her lips on my hot brow ! She 
and she alone can save me !” and turning to him 
again, she cried : 

“ O, Love, is it wrong to worship you as I do? 
Answer me. Tell me quickly, for whatever you may 
say, will be well !” and she clung to his arm, while 
her questioning eyes sought his face. The face that, 
alas ! was more to her than the sacred love of Christ ! 

“ Wrong to love me ?” he echoed. Child, are you 
mad ? Why should there be any wrong in love that 
is like our’s ? Did not God intend us for each other? 
All my life have I not dreamed of you, knowing that 
sooner or later we must meet ! and now shall a mere 
fancy separate us?” while down on lips, neck and 
breast fell his burning kisses, that found their way 
into her soul’s whiteness. 

‘‘ Promise me one thing,” he cried, almost fiercely : 
“ That whatever may come to us in the future, even 
though it be death, you will not cease to love me : for 
if I were in Heaven, and you had sinned and were in 
Hell, gladly would I leave all delights and suffer with 
you ! And yet, you ask me, if such love is wrong ! O, 
my darling, never, never ask it again ! ” 

There was such passion — such intensity of feeling in 
his voice — that she felt as though he held her heart in 
his hand, and no power on earth could break the grasp. 


52 


FATIMA. 


She prayed there — prayed in a mute, voiceless prayer 
— prayed, 0, so earnestly, that she might die, clasped 
in his arms, while the night wind was singing his 
name, and over love’s magic fount, the lone star, like 
a faithful sentinel, kept guard, and the loving night- 
ingale softly trilled : “ Love is not a dream ! ” 



‘ My whole soul waiting silently, 

All naked in a sultry sky, 

Droops blinded with his shining eye : 

I will possess him, or will die. 

I will grow round him in his place. 
Grow, live, die looking on his face. 
Die, dying clasp’d in his embrace.” 

— Tennyson. 


‘ And fays and fairies flit and wend 

To keep the sweet stream flowing free. 
And on Love’s languid votary 
The little elves delighted tend.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


‘ She sleeps : her breathings are not heard 
In palace chambers far apart. 

The fragrant tresses are not stirr’d 
That lie upon her charmed heart. 

She sleeps : on either hand upswells 
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest : 
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells 
A perfect form in perfect rest.” 

— Tennyson. 


“ Whene’er I dream of that pure breast. 
How could I dwell upon its snows ! 
Yet is the daring wish represt. 

For that, — would banish its repose.” 

— Byron. 




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FATIMA, 


m 


CHAPTER VIL 



“ MY LOVE, SHE SLEEPS. 

CHASTE, snbdned stillness hovered over 
Magnolia Hall. The gardens lay sleep- 
ing ’neath the fleecy, gold-lined clouds of 
sunset, and the faint, sweet breath of 
early eve was stealing o’er the land. Now, 
the fast dying shadows would gather large 
and mysterious, and anon lit up by the sunlight would 
be transformed into the semblance of a fairy scene. 
The air was rife with the fragrance of oleander blos- 
soms, and birds of song, feeling in their breasts 
something gladdening and inspiring, sang aloud in 
their outpourings of joy, and the sound was carried by 
echo to the distant groves, where thousands of their 
feathered companions took up the symphony ere its 
last notes had died away, and as they burst forth with 
renewed strength and force, it seemed as if the very 
heavens shook and trilled in melody and song. 

And in the very midst of all this beauty of the 
dying day, slept Fatima. The joy and bliss of her 
love-dream were enthroned upon her peerless brow, 


56 


FATIMA, 


and the gladness within her heart broke forth in the 
smiling curves of her young mouth’s sweetness. 
Sleeping, she dreamed of her lover, for the bosom of 
snow rose and fell rapidly, and she cried aloud : 

He is mine! No power on earth can ever take 
him from me then the smile gave place to a look of 
sorrow, and she sobbed : 

You shall not come between his heart and mine 
with your reproachful eyes that forever haunt me. I 
will possess him, body and soul, or else I shall die in 
his arms. 0, Victor, my own, true love, tell me ’tis 
all a false, wild dream !” and as she opened her eyes 
with a startled cry, she saw the face she so loved bend- 
ing over her, 

''What is it, my darling?” he asked, tenderly 
lifting her up. '‘What has troubled you? You 
moaned and cried in your sleep like one in distress, 
and I was about to speak when you awoke.” 

“Such an awful, awful dream,” she answered with 
a cold shudder. “I thought that before me, O, so 
pale and sorrowful, was the face of a woman, and as I 
uttered your name she came close to me, and bending 
down, until her icy cheek touched mine, whispered in 
a voice whose accents I shall never forget, that she 
was your loife! O, God 1 the misery and despair of 
that moment ! I cried aloud in my anguish, and 
when life seemed about to leave my throbbing limbs. 


FATIMA, 


67 


I awoke and found your dear face looking into mine. 
Tell me, O, tell me, my love, if there is a grave some^ 
where in the past ; a ghastly mound between your life 
and my own ?” and she clutched his arm, her breath 
coming hot and feverish while she waited for the 
answer. 

Once his lips, which had grown deathly white, 
moved, but no sound left them. He raised his hand 
to his throat as though he was choking, then he spoke, 
but his voice was hoarse and strained : 

It was but a dream, my own. A wild, unreal 
dream. Do not think of it,” and as his fierce over- 
powering passion rushed over him, and he realized 
how much she was to him, this violet eyed, golden- 
tressed Fatima, of whom he had dreamed for so many 
long years, he drew hei- to his side, crushing her to 
him, until she cried out: 

I am afraid ! I am afraid ! You are not my lover, 
for he is gentle and tender, and you hurt me !” 

He sank down upon the ground before her, and 
leaning his head against her quivering limbs, locked 
both arms tightly about her knees, groaning: 

“My God ! You do not know. You cannot under- 
stand ! Hurt you, do I ? Darling, it is because I love 
you so. Why, I would die here to save you a 
moment’s pain. I would bare my heart, and let you 
trample it under your dainty feet, kissing them for 


58 


FATIMA. 


every pang they caused me. Did I not say that even 
death should not separate us? my queen, my queen !” 
and as his words died away some of the greatness and 
power of his emotion seemed to vibrate through every 
vein, and when her limbs grew faint, and refused to 
support her swaying form, with a low, sobbing cry, 
she slipped down before him, cowering and crouching 
like a guilty thing, while she wildly sobbed : 

I love you, I love you, 1 love you ! O, you know 
I do ! I wish we could die out here to-night ! Die, 
and be at peace. Then no feverish dreams could ever 
haunt me. Death would only unite us, not divide our 
paths. O, Love, do not leave me ! Stay with me 
forever !” and worn out by her grief, lower her head 
drooped, until it rested perfectly motionless upon his 
breast, and he knew that she slept. 

As softly as a mother would hush her babe he raised 
her in his arms and gently bore her to the room where 
she first saw the light. Down among the downy, 
gold-fringed pillows, he laid her, pressing kiss after 
kiss into the rose-vale of her curved mouth, whose 
breathings he felt but could not hear. In hei* slumber 
there seemed to be no dreams, for neither the touch of 
his hand, nor the caresses he showered upon her face, 
neck and bosom could arouse her. Like a wondrous 
poem in life-like marble she lay, perfect in hei* face 
and form, and perfect in her unbroken rest, and he. 


FATIMA, 


59 


kneeling by her side, guarding her couch, whispered : 

“ She sleeps. My love, she sleeps, and I dare not 
kiss her again, for fear it will disturb her rest. I long 
to lay my head upon her snowy breast, but O God, 
’tis all too pure for me to touch !” while outside the 
murmuring wind bore the echo to the rippling waters, 
and the nightingale listening, caught the faint sound, 
and lifting its dainty head, sang softly : ‘‘My Love, 
She Sleeps !” 









Hush ! hush ! the nighting^ale begins to sing, 

And stops, as ill contented with her note ; 

Then breaks from out the bush with hurried wing, 
Restless and passionate. She turns her throat. 
Laments awhile in wavering trills, and then 
Floods with a stream of sweetness all the glen.” 

— Jean Ingelow. 


“Now know ye how of Love I think 
As of a fountain, failing never, 

On whose soft marge I lie, and drink 
Delicious draughts of Joy forever.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ Whene’er I view those lips of thine, 
Their hue invites my fervent kiss ; 
Yet I forego that bliss divine, 

Alas ! it were unhallowed bliss.” 

— Byron. 


“ And oft I heard the tender dove 

In firry woodlands making moan ; 

But ere I saw your eyes, my love, 

I had no motion of my own ; 

For scarce my life with fancy play’d 
Before I dream’d that pleasant dream, 
Still hither, thither idly sway’d 

Like those long mosses in the stream.” 

— Tennyson. 



FATIMA. 


68 


CFIAPTER VIII. 



THE NIGHTINGALE S SONG. 


I^ITH her Starry wings spread above the 
sleeping maid, and her kneeling lover, 
the night glided calmly on. The 
southern fragrance of bud and blossom 
floated out on the still air, and even the 
sighing perfume laden winds hushed 
their murmurs, as though fearing to break rudely in 
upon the silence of the scene, while out under the 
summer sky, the marble figure of the ‘ Siren” yet 
stood, and the trembling dew-drops fell down on her 
face, and clung there until the flowers nil looked up in 
surprise, thinking she wept. By and by, the nightin- 
gale awoke, and seeing those pearly tears, began to 
sing, softly and tenderly, hoping its notes would 
drive all sorrow from the white, gleaming breast that 
the pallid moonlight lovingly shone over. 

As the bird’s song grew sadder, it found echo in 
Fatima’s soul, for with a low, breathing sigh, she 
awok^, and sitting upright, silenced her lover as he 
was about to speak, by laying her li[)s to his, and they 


64 


FA TIMA. 


both remained motionless, listening eagerly to the 
weird, solemn music. 

What does the nightingale mean she whispered 
at last. ‘‘Is it glad because you and I have met, or is 
it a note of warning?” and she laid her soft, wai m 
hand on his face, where it looked like a lily-leaf in 
the moonlight. 

“It is rejoicing with us in our happiness,” he an- 
swered, taking her lingers within his own, and press- 
ing them against his cheek, '‘It is happy with us in 
our i)erfect joy, so you see, my darling, that it is all 
right. Even the howers and wild birds know of our 
love, and are glad, knowing how much it has brought 
into our lives. Were ir a note of warning,” he said, 
drawing her closer to him, while a scowl black as mid- 
nighi, darkened his face, “I would follow that night- 
ingale until I stifled the song in its throat. But why 
should it warn you, when you are mine, and I am 
yours, while the world throbs on day after day, and 
night after night the stars gild the sky, in whose 
depths our love is set,” and, as he ceased speaking, 
louder and louder sang the nightingale, its voice taking 
on a new tinge of sadness, and then, as if it had 
wearied, sinking to a steady, trilling sob, like one who 
is hopeless, and yet lives on, because they cannot die. 

No sound was heard for a few moments, save the 
mournful n\usic, and then his voice, very tender and 
gentle, said: 


FATIMA. 


65 


‘'Listen to me, my own, and when I am done, tell 
me just what you think of the sad, sad story of a 
blighted future, and a ruined, desolate life, that has 
had only one glimpse of sunshine through the long, 
long years of that existence, and whatever your verdict 
may be, I will abide by it,” and even as the last word 
fell from his lips, he covered her face with burning 
kisses, in whose sweetness all the bitterness of death 
was hidden. But to her, death would indeed be sweet, 
if it was concealed in the warmth and passion of his 
kiss. 

"There is in this bright, beautiful world, a captive 
— a miserable, tortured soul — bound in heavy, merciless 
chains, that at every movement sink deeper into the 
already almost unbearable wound, causing agonizing 
pain. Every night he dreams of a holy, snow white 
dove, that comes to him and softly whispers of peace and 
joy in the future. At last he sees her — this wondrous 
vision that has been with him, in fancy, so long, and 
she, in spite of his lost youth and fetters, loves him ! 
Loves him, and longs to be with him forever ! Close, 
close to his aching heart he folds the pure bird, and 
she, contented, lies there, and he forgets the past. 
Then, little by little, it dawns upon his clouded mind 
what an awful, awful wrong he is doing this innocent 
little bird. Shutting her away from the lights and 
flowers, blending her pure life into a dark shadow with 


66 


FATIMA. 


his own stained one, and brushing the sunshine of 
Heaven forever from those young, untried wings, 
whose flight has thus been checked. But uppermost 
in his mind is the thought that she loves him. Aye, 
worships him, and would fly to the ends of the earth 
with him ! Would throw aside alliox his sake, living 
only for his kisses and caresses. But as much as she 
loves him, Uis but as a mere drop of water that falls 
into tlje fathomless abyss of the mighty deep, wiien 
compared with ttie passion that marks his soul. O my 
darling, if you were that little bird, what would you do? 
Would you meekly fold your white wings, and fly 
back to the old peaceful life, seeing the gates of Para- 
dise opened to receive you, or would you follow the 
one you loved, even though the very pits of Hell 
yawned ’neath your feet, because of your love for that 
poor captive whose life belonged to you ? Answer me, 
for all depends on the words that tremble on your 
lips !” 

She looked at him a moment in silence, seeming to 
know and understand all, and then, throwing her arms 
around his neck, cried frantically : 

•“‘I U'ould cling to him forever, though a thousand 
deaths stared me in the face ! I would follow him 
through seas of tire ; over rugged mountains and across 
the burning sands of endless deserts, on whose wastes 
the blood from my wounded feet left a crimson stain. 


FATIMA, 


67 


and no power on earth, or in Heaven or Hell, could 
take me from his side, for love is greater and grander 
than all ! ’Tis a mighty fountain, on whose flower- 
strewn marge I lie, and drink until my soul be satis- 
fled, and that will be never, for the want within my 
soul grows more and more ! O, Love ! I did not live 
until I looked into your eyes, and heard your voice ! 
I was hither, thither, idly swayed, waiting for some- 
thing, I know not what — but ’twas you Love, I know. 
And to-night the longing, bliss and pain of loving was 
in the nightingale’s song !” and as she clung to his 
neck, the nightingale peered through the magnolia 
branches and sang : “ O, Love! Love! Love!” 







“ Then let the secret fire consume 

Let it consume, thou shalt not know : 
With joy I court a certain doom, 

Rather than spread its guilty glow.” 

— Byron. 


I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover. 

Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate ; 

Now if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover — 
Hush, nightingale, hush ! O sweet nightingale wait 
Till I listen and hear 
If a step draweth near. 

For my love he is late ! 

The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, 

A cluster of stars hangs like fruit on the tree. 

The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer. 

To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see ? 
Let the star-clusters grow, 

Let the sweet waters flow, 

And cross quickly to me.” 

— Jean Ingelow. 


There is sweet music here that softer falls 
Than petals from blown roses on the grass. 

Or night-dews on still waters between walls 
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; 

Music that gentler on the spirit lies. 

Than tir’d eyelids upon tir’d eyes ; 

Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. 
Here are cool mosses deep. 

And thro’ the moss the ivies creep. 

And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 

And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.” 

— Tennyson. 







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FATIMA. 


71 


CHAPTER IX. 


“O COME AGAIN TO ME, MY LOVE.” 



LOWLY the daylight broadened, the misty 


gray deepened into gold and rose; and 
a new day was at hand, and still the 


two who loved each other so madly moved 
not. Back among the gold-fringed pil- 


lows, leaned the young girl, whose existence 


was like a swift leaping stream of liquid fire, and by 
her side knelt the man whose life was shadow^ed by 
some sorrowful secret, and whose youth was spent in 
dreaming of this crimson lipped love of his. Those 
long years of waiting had left a few faint lines upon 
his broad brow% and scattered many a silver thread in 
the dark hair. 

Faintly away in the distance of the breaking day, 
they could hear — by listening intently — the trill of 
some bird, and the sound— penetrating and exquisite 
— went straight to their hearts. All the worldly pru- 
dence and practical common sense of which they had 
read, and often pondered over, never seemed to have 
existed, as locked in each other’s arms they sat, 


72 


FATIMA, 


oblivious of time, forgetful of what the world might 
say, caring only for the bliss of being together, and 
higher and higher in the heavens rose the sun ! 

He laid his head on her breast, and the scented 
waves of his dark hair brushed her face. O ! the joy 
of being near him! O! the sweet, subtle thrill that 
went through her! She caught her breath with a 
gasp, half joy, half pain, and her heart beat so fiercely 
that every throb hurt her ! 

He shivered a little, as he raised his head and 
looked into the love lighted eyes, and with a quick, 
impetuous start, he moved as if to kiss the sensitive 
mouth, but did not. In the swift changing lights of 
the early dawn, her beauty shone like a pearl. He 
gazed speechless at her. a wild storm of doubt and 
vain bitter regret surging through his soul. O God ! 
if the past might only be blotted out ! If he could 
but awake, and lind it a miserable, hideous dream ! 
A stormy sea, whose angry waves had ceased flowing 
forever, and in its place the maddening, blinding 
stream of love, on whose flower-strewn borders he 
Iny, trying to forget ! 

The girl’s hand tightened on his arm, and under 
her gauze robe her heart gave a great throb. She was 
thinking how much had come into her life, since she 
flrst met this man. Aye, and how much had gone 
from her t(jo ! Never again would her young, pure 


FA TIMA, 


78 


soul hold communion with the How’ rets and singing 
birds. She could never s^e the same glow in the sun 
and stars, for the calm, quiet light had given place to 
a burning consuming tire, that scorched and blistered 
her heart, one moment bringing pleasure : the next, 
pain. And yet ’twas the crowning joy of all her life ! 

Like the sure, sharp flight of an arrow through the 
air, there swept over her dreamy brain, the wondering 
thought that he had never asked her to be his wife. He 
loved her. That she well knew. She had sworn to 
follow him forever, and often he whispered over and 
over again, that even death could not part them. He 
had made her promise that when she lay in her grave, 
she would be his own, and as a dim mist settled down 
over her senses, she moved away from him, saying 
sharply: 

“Go, and let me think. I want to be alone. Go, 
^o, I say.” 

He arose, and left her there alone. Hour after 
hour passed noiselessly by, and when the twilight shad- 
ows began to glide down and enfold her, she leaned 
out over the broad window-sill, and holding out her 
hands, cried tremulously : 

“O, come again to me, my love! I cannot see, for 
’tis dark, but I know you will come. I will be more 
patient. I am sorry that 1 sent you away, but I knew 
not what I said O! nightingale, send my darling 


74 


FATIMA, 


back to me! Tell him, I want him so much,” and 
the outstretched hands unclosed, as though she 
already felt his warm fingers clasping her own. 

Darker and darker stooped the skies. The silvery, 
liquid fiow of the waters reached her ears, and the 
smell of the sweet white clover was wafted to her on 
the evening breeze. Her head fell forward, and half- 
sleeping, half-waking, she awaited his coming, know- 
ing that he could not live long away from her side. 

“ It all sounds like sweetest music to me,” she mur 
mured dreamily, a delicious languor stealing o’er her 
whole form, while her bosom scarcely moved so softly 
did she breath, and a climbing rose, clambering about 
the window, daringly laid its satin leaves against the 
cheek that by turns paled and fiushed with her strong 
emotion. To-night, with all passion gone from her, she 
craved, and not demanded love ; and the heart of na- 
ture seemed throbbing in unison with her own, while 
over bird and flower the same sacred silence brooded. 
Hushed was the nightingale’s song, and late was the 
coming of one whom she loved, and still the waters 
flowed on ; the darkness grew more and more dense, 
and then the tiny stars began to gild the sky, and yet 
she was alone ! And sitting there, sweet tender 
thoughts of her dead mother came to her ; but a climb- 
ing rose touched her cheek, and as she pressed it in 
sudden passion to her breast, she forgot that mother I 


Oh ! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, 
Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow ; 
Let us pass round the cup of love’s bliss in full measure. 
And quaff the contents as our nectar below.” 

— Byron. 


“ And the soul of the rose went into my blood, 

As the music clash’d in the hall ; 

As long by the garden lake I stcod, 

For I heard your rivulet fall 
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, 
Our wood that is dearer than all. 

“ From the meadow your w'alks have left so sweet 
That whenever a March-wdnd sighs 
He sets the jewel-print of your feet 
In violets blue as your eyes, 

To the woody hollows in which we meet 
And the valleys of Paradise.” 

— Tennyson. 


“ As she fled thro’ sun and shade, 

The happy winds upon her play’d, 
Blowing the ringlets from the braid : 
She look’d so lovely as she sway’d 

The rein, with dainty finger-tips, 
A man had given all other bliss. 

And all his worldly wealth for this, 
To waste his whole heart in one kiss 
Upon her perfect lips.” 


— Tennyson. 



FATIMA, 


77 


CHAPTER X. 

“THE VIOLET SPRINGS TO LIFE ’nEATH YOUR FEET.” 

HE low wind sighed and whispered, and 
then ceased only to begin anew, and as 



the eclio of a well-known footstep reached 
’ Fatima's ear, she arose from her kneeling 
position by the window, and glided swiftly 
through tlip darkness, on to the lake where 
they so often met. Like a living statue she looked in 
her white, flowing robe, and her face was colorless 
with long waiting. 

The moon, coming from under a cloud, shone full 
upon his uplifted face, and the exi)ression of deep, 
settled sorrow in his dark, magnetic eyes, struck 
a responsive chord in her wildly leaping breast, that 
pierced it through and through like the sharp thrust 
of a dagger. All the great passion that burned in 
her veins, found vent in a stifled, delirious cry, and 
involuntarily she held out both hands to him, her lips 
quivering like a grieved child. 

He heard her, and turned quickly around, and as 
the tear-wet eves and tremulous mouth of his love met 


78 


FATIMA. 


his gaze, he sprang to meet her, and the next moment 
she was clasped in his arms that crushed her to his 
side, like an iron band. 

She clung to him, unable to speak, but saying far 
more in the intensity of her emotion than a thousand 
fond words might ever hope to express. Great, gasp- 
ing sobs shook her from head to foot, like a tierce 
tempest that sways all before and behind it, and her 
heart — her wayward, misguided heart — leaped up into 
her swan-like throat, where it seemed trying to choke 
her. 

When she could speak, she cried out, her breath 
tiuttering through her lips like a fairy wind : 

O, Love, forgive me ! I did not realize what I was 
doing when I sent you away from me. 1 know well 
that i cannot live when you are not by my side I O 
forgive me ! I was mad ! mad ! mad !” 

“ Forgive,” he echoed. ‘‘ There is naught to forgive, 
my own darling. O my queen, if you do love me, and 
I know you do, surely the God above knows it too, and 
He smiles upon that love, for see, only a few moments 
ago all was shrouded in darkness, and now tis all light 
and brilliancy. Fatima, Fatima !” 

He repeated her name over and over again, and 
when he slopped, a faint, wavering echo yet tilled the 
night-air. He closed his eyes and leaned his hot fore- 
head against her cool brow, and in a moment the fire 


FATIMA, 


79 


coursing through his temples burned its way into her 
veins, and half-swooning she felt his arms around her, 
while in the shadowy distance she heard the crash 
of a brass band, booming out loud and brazen. She 
strove in vain to throw off the mystic, subtle spell and 
be herself again, but her brain was dazed and troubled. 
She could not think ! 

A breath of cooling, healing air fanned her face, and 
she drew a long sigh. He also seemed to awaken, for 
he whispered : 

‘‘Love, do you know that while 1 was waiting here, 
I fancied that this sweet, red rose, with its balmy 
heart of crimson, was you. All the fragrance and 
beauty of the flower itself, went into my soul, and I 
could feel it slowly creeping through my blood, and 
it stirred my whole being, as a storm at sea moves the 
calm waters to a fury that they cannot control. And 
every time you walk across the grass, a dainty, nod- 
ding violet, springs into life under your feet. How 
can they help it? When your white hand — small 
and weak, though it appears — can control my life, 
surely the flow^ers must obey you. ’Tis a Paradise 
when you are here, and a damnable, hellish desert 
when you are gone ! 

As his last words died away in silence, she shud- 
dered, and catching botli of his hands within her own, 
pressed them convulsively to her breast, crying out : 


80 


FATIMA. 


“ I wish we were dead together to night, for there is 
something between ns, I tell you. and one day I shall 
know what it is. O, I wish we might lie at rest, hidden 
forever away from the world’s cruel gaze !” and she bur- 
ied her face on his shoulder sobbing alond, caring for 
nothing on earth bnt the pleasure of being near him and 
still dreading and fearing the awful shadow, that some 
way or other she knew' was hoveling over them both. 

He lifted his eyes up to the stairy heavens, and 
unconsciously niniinured: 

‘ ‘ I wish we were dead together to-day, 

Lost sight of, hidden away out of sight. 

Clasped and clothed in the cloven clay, 

Out of the world’s way, out of the light. 

Out of the ages of worldly weather, 

Forgotten of all men altogether, 

As the world’s first dead — taken wholly away, 

Made one with death, filled full of the night.” 

Then they parted. He saw her again in the early 
morning light, riding through the woods where they 
so often wandered amid the warmth and sunshine, 
and she looked so beautiful, mounted on her snow- 
white steed, that as she passed out of sight, he flung 
himself face down upon the grass, willing to part with 
all he had on earth, for the grand, glorious privilege 
of kissing those perfect, smiling lips ! Aye, even lay 
down his life, and die the most agonizing death, draw- 
ing the poison from her arched mouth ! And mocking- 
ly the sun shone over the wood : gaily the birds sang, 
and the soft winds whispered: ‘‘Fatima, Fatima.” 


“ My darling ! O my darling ! not the less 

My dream went on because I knew it such : 

She came towards me in her loveliness — 

A thing too pure, methought for mortal touch ; 
The rippling gold diJ on her bosom meet, 

The long white robe descended to her feet. ” 

— Jean Ingelow. 


“ What wonder that I loved her thus, that night ? 
The Immortals know each other at first sight, 
And Love is of them. 

In the fading light 

Of that delicious eve, where stars even yet 
Gild the long dreamless nights, and cannot set. 
She passed me through the silence : all her hair. 
Her waving, warm bright hair neglectful 
Poured round her showy throat as without care 
Of its own beauty.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ Childlike, and wistful, and sorrowful-eyed. 

With the rain on her hair, and the rain on her cheek ; 
She knelt down, with her fair forehead fallen and meek 
In the light of the moon at my side.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ I will not ease my tortured heart. 

By driving dove-eyed peace from thine ; 
Rather than such a sting impart. 

Each thought presumptuous I resign.” 

— Byron. 







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FATIMA, 


83 


CHAPTER XL 

1 DREAMT THAT YOUR HEART WAS OF MARBLE.” 



HOW the stars glittered and scintillated ! 

How the scented smiinier wind toyed 
with the dainty clusters of oleander blos- 
soms, and the nightingale sang as though 
a silver flute was concealed in its throat, 
and the crystal fountain rippled and played 
in the midst of the sweet silence, while the marble 
face of the Siren,” took on a look of mute surprise, 
and in the deceiving rays of moonlight and star-shine 
combined, it seemed that she lifted her white arms up 
to the calm heavens with an appealing gesture. 

With flowers all around and about him, and the 
star-studded canopy of the sky above him, sat the one 
to whom the young southern girl had given her very 
life, A bewildered expression, as though he had been 
sleeping and was now but half aroused, appeared 
upon his face, and instinctively he turned his eyes in 
the direction of the blossom bordered pathway, where 
her light step had sounded so many times, as she 


84 


FATIMA. 


came to meet him, all the glory and triumph of her 
^ love engraven in the smile that wreathed her lips. 

He passed his hand over his brow, and then some- 
thing told him that she was coming. There was a 
solemn hush of sighing wind and tinkling fount as she 
came in view, her pure, white robe falling in long, 
graceful folds to her dainty feet, and the streams of 
her warm, waving hair meeting on her lovely bosom, 
where it lay like a living, quivering lake of gold. 

‘‘My darling! ” burst from his lips, and he caught 
her in his arms, holding her close to his heart, while he 
said in an agitated manner : 

“ I have had such a strange, strange dream ! I 
thought that 1 was here alone, waiting for you, but 
you did not come. Hours passed away, and then, 
just as the moon shone brightest, a still, small voice 
seemed to say : 

‘‘‘Your Love’s heart is of coldest marble. No 
warmth or emotion can ever stir it again. She is lost 
to you, forever and forever! Lost, lost, lost !’ 

‘‘For a moment I was stunned. Then I turned 
wildly, looking in vain for you, and as I sat speechless 
the marble tigure of the “Siren” stepped down from 
the pedestal, and as she came toward me, I saw ’twas 
your face and form ! You laid your icy hand on my 
face, and pressed your frozen lips to my own, and a 


FATIMA, 


85 


deathly chill gathered around, and finally entered iny 
heart. O it was awful, awful ! ” 

He shuddered, and wiping the great drops of sweat 
from his veined forehead, resumed : 

‘'Then you spoke, and your voice though sweet and 
clear, was like a stream that murmurs coldly ’neath 
the ice-bound fetters of winter. You reproached me 
for not giving you a warmer welcome, and when I 
cried aloud that you were not my own, true-hearted 
Fatima, but a soulless statue, over your face there 
swept a frown, black and threatening, and your 
slender fingers clasped my wrists in a vice-like grasp, 
that I was powerless to resist. O Love, how happy 
was my heart, when I awoke and found it but a 
dream ! And I love you ten thousand times better 
than I did at early morn. The stars will forget and 
will not set to-night, so absorbed are they in our 
dream of bliss. You are so beautiful. Surely God 
never made another woman one half so fair as you. 
Is it any wonder that I love you ? ” 

She laughed, a musical ringing laugh, and taking 
his face between her hands, cried out : 

‘‘Then if you love me, why don’t you kiss me, or 
are you afraid that I will change from flesh and blood 
into marble as you dreamed. But seriously, Victor,” 
and here her voice grew very tender, ‘‘I could not 
live without you. If my poor heart was made of 


86 


FATIMA, 


marble, you, and you alone, could warm it to life. 
Your voice and embrace would break even the spell of 
coldness and rigidity that binds the motionless limbs 
of the ‘‘Siren,” and she would love you as madly as I 
do now,” and she glanced at the statue, expecting to 
see a smile lighting up the immovable features. 

Suddenly the moon went under a cloud, the stars 
crept timidly ’neath a veiling mist, and darkness en- 
veloped the scene. Large drops of rain commenced to 
fall, and Fatima, subdued and frightened, crouched 
down in the wet grass, hiding her face in her hands. 
Only a few moments, however, did the shower last, 
and as the moon peered forth once more, she lifted her 
head asking in a wistful, childlike voice : 

‘•Do you think Grod was angry because I said your 
touch would put life into the statue ? It is not my 
fault, is it, that I love you more than I love Him ? I 
am powerless. I did not make my own heart, did I ? 
and besides why did He let us meet if ’twas wrong? 
Why are we allowed to live if we are sinning? One 
of us should be dead years ago, you see, but we know 
’tis all right. Answer me. Love, and say there is no 
sin in either your soul or mine,” and eagerly she 
awaited his reply. 

“ Love is not wrong,” he answered slowly, “but, 
my darling, we must expect to find sin in every soul. 
We cannot live perfect lives, you know, try as we 


FATIMA, 


87 


may. But you,” he added passionately, “ you were 
as pure and unsoiled as the angels are, when I first 
saw you. You looked more like a holy spirit that had 
just floated down from Paradise than you did like a 
woman who could love and suffer, for to love» is to 
suffer. Ah ! why did I come into your life? ” and great 
hot tears fell from his eyes as he bent over her. 

“Why did you come into my life!” she echoed 
softly. “ Because I needed you, and you aroused my 
heart from a sleep as deep as though it had been made 
of marble 1” 





“ There has fallen a splendid tear 

From the passion-flower at the gate. 

She is coming, my dove, my dear ; 
i She is coming, my life, my fate ; 

The red rose cries, ‘ She is near, she is near 
And the white rose weeps, ‘ She is late 
The larkspur listens, ‘ I hear, I hear 
And the lily whispers, ‘ I wait.’ 

“ She is coming, my own, my sweet ; 

Were it ever so airy a tread, 

My heart would hear her and beat. 

Were it earth in an earthy bed ; 

My dust would hear her and beat, 

Had I lain for a century dead. 

Would start and tremble under her feet. 

And blossom in purple and red.” 

— Tennyson. 


‘ And she loves me ! This morning the earth, pressed beneath 
Her light foot, keeps the print. 

’Twas no vision last night. 

For the lily she dropped, as she went, is yet white 
With the dew on its delicate sheath !” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ ‘ Ah cruel, cruel.’ cried Fatima, 

* That I should not possess the past ! 

What woman’s lips first kissed the lips 
Where my kiss lived and lingered last.’ ” 
— Owen Meredith. 



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FATIMA. 


91 


CHAPTER XIL 
‘"’tis stone, not marble.’’ 


HE is corning !” he cried, springing to his 
with a bound like a lithe, agile 
panther, and the shock was so great to 
the lilies and roses, that big, splendid 
tears fell from the passion-flower at the 
gate. Fell right down from hearts of royal 
purple to those of blood-red, and waxen white, where 
they trembled and wavered and quivered like living 
things. 

‘‘ She is late !” he cried a few moments after, when 
she appeared not. ‘‘ But my Love she will come. She 
knows how I need her, and she soon will be here. O, 
I would hear her, even if the sod grew green above 
me. My Queen. We will laugh at death. We shall 
live side by side, and we shall die heart to heart ! And 
I swear that we ^oill be together after death, be it in 
Heaven or in Hell ! Why, if I should be changed 
into the leaping, writhing flames of Hell she would 
fly to me, and cling close to my breast until I burned 
and tortured her life out !” 


92 


FATIMA, 


The bright sun of morn, shaded by rose-lined clouds, 
shone faintly through a rift of drifting fleece, and as 
his eyes wandered over the picture, he whispered rev 
erently, now that the storm of passion was calming 
down : 

Here is the air that freshened to her song ; here 
the ground that keeps her footprints yet, where clasp- 
ed in each other’s arms last night we stood, faint with 
the greatness of our love. The low, half-sighings of 
the fount are rife with both (>ur thoughts, and here 
where the grass bends, and will not rise, she knelt, 
pressing her head against my breast, like a wistful, 
beseeching child;” and he kissed the ground where 
her dimpled knees had rested, while a thrill that 
spoke of her leapt in his frame and stirred his blood. 

“ She loves me!” The words burst from his lips 
like the blast of a trumpet, as his eyes fell upon a 
white, fallen lily that her hand had clasped last 
night. The dew yet lay like tears of baptism on its 
delicate sheath, and the sun tried vainly to dry it. 

“ She is sleeping,” he murmured, and very tender 
had his voice grown. 

“ I will come again to night, when she awakens and 
knows I have been here. Sleep and dream, my own, 
of something fair and bright.” 

% % ^ ^ 

Night. Star-shine and nightingale songs ; love in 


FATIMA. 


93 


the ripple of the water’s flow ; passion in the subtle, 
sensuous perfume of the flow’ rets. Sorrow, yet 
unseen, over all ! 

Up on the air, there rose a voice — a man’s voice 
agonized and awful in its pain and bitter despair, and 
the words cut like a flash of lightning : 

‘‘My God! my God ! have mercy ! What have I 
done ? O what have I done ? Wife ! My wife % Of 
course she is ! But why don’t she die % Why does she 
live, and haunt me day and night ? She stands between 
two hearts and souls ! I shall go mad, mad, mad !” 

He fell upon his face, and lay prone in the matted 
grass, where he writhed and shivered as though all 
the flends of Hell were tearing him limb from limb, 
and then the very mania of madness seized him, and 
changed him yet again, for he sprang to his feet, cry- 
ing hoarsely : 

“ I will possess her ! I will take both her life and 
my own before we part! Away with all fears ! She 
is mine, mine, mine !” 

He dashed on through the night, never pausing, but 
trying to deaden his haunted conscience. On. on, on ! 
anywhere out of sight and hearing ! any place, no 
matter what it was, to hide from the world, and every_ 
thing in it ! Everything ? God, no ! He wanted some 
place — some refuge — in which to hide his love forever ! 

’Twas well that only the echo of his retreating foot- 


94 


FATIMA, 


steps lingered around the spot, and rang through the 
starred darkness, for there was a sobbing breath, a 
stifled moan, and then a cry — the wild, tortured cry of 
the bitterest agony — filled the air, and the timid dove 
gazing with gentle, beaming eyes at the Siren,” 
beheld it totter and fall crashing to the ground ! and 
the nightingale saw that the pedestal where she stood 
was vacant now, and the ghastly face, upturned and 
rigid, was strangely drawn and wan ! 

Still as death she lay, and the warm rays of moonlight 
appeared to send a stream of life through those marble 
limbs, for convulsively they moved, and as she groveled 
there on the earth, a shriek of despair and desolation 
found voice, and the pitying stars, looking sadly down 
on the moving, working face, knew it was — Fatima ! 

‘‘ O God ! O God ! 0 God /” she cried hoarsely, 

‘'What shall I do? How shall I live? My life is 
wrecked ! My soul is lost ! There's no grave between 
us, but a living grave in his heart ! Let me die ! O, 
pitying God, let me die !” 

She tore her golden hair from her head in great 
handfuls, and clutched her throat until the nails cut 
into the tender flesh, and the blood trickled in tiny 
streams down over her shoulders, and then, as the 
mania of her madness overpowered her, and she sank 
fainting to the ground, the nightingale began to sing, 
and this was the drift of the song : 

“My heart. My heart. ’Tis stone, not marble.” 


“ For a breeze of morning moves, 

And the planet of Love is on high, 
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves 
On a bed of daffodil sky, 

To faint in the light of the sun she loves, 

To faint in his light, and to die. 

“ The slender accacia would not shake 

One long milk-white bloom on the tree ; 

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake. 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; 

But the rose was awake all night for your sake, 
Knowing your promise to me. 

The lilies and roses were all awake, 

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.” 

— Tennyson, 


“ How beautiful, at night, to look into 
the light 

Of loving eyes, when loving lips 
lean down unto our own ! 

But there is no hand in mine, 
no hand in mine. 

Nor any tender cheek against 
me prest : 

O stars that o’er me shine, I pine, 

I pine, I pine. 

With hopeless fancies hidden in 
an ever-hungering breast !” 

— Owen Meredith. 


‘ Ah, by my dark and sullen nature nurst, 

And rocked by passion on this stormy heart, 
Be mine the last, as thou wert mine the first ! 
We dare not part !” 


— Owen Meredith. 



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FATIMA. 


97 



CHAPTER XIII. 

'‘WE DARE NOT PART.” 

rORN! Morn with its chill breath, and 
hateful gleams of light. Hateful ? 
Yes, doubly hateful and accursed, be- 
cause it comes rudely in upon the 
wondrous visions of the night, which 
yet live and leap and throb as in that 
alluring dream, which is laden with bliss, such as only 
the worldly heart may know and enjoy, for to that 
heart, Life is Love, and Love is all ! 

But to the lonely man, awaiting the coming of the 
one he so madly adored, and yet so deeply wronged, 
everything was odious and hateful. He fancied that 
even the angels were mocking him, and wdth a tierce, 
smothered cry, he moaned : 

“Why does she linger when she knows I am long- 
ing to feel her hand on my brow ? She promised to 
meet me here every night and morn, and even the 
lilies and roses stay awake through all the livelong 
night to see if her promise she will keep. How they 
love her, and sigh for her dear presence. O, my own. 


98 


FATIMA. 


my own, what would life be without you ? and — O 
God — what will it be with you 

Great drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, 
and he trembled and shook like one with ague. He 
heard her coming, and wild with his agony and emo- 
tion, sprang behind a gigantic oleander tree, where 
the sweet perfume was so heavy that it sickened him, 
and he reeled and staggei ed like a drunken man. 

She raised her heavy eyes up to the morning sky, 
and a low, pitiful wail came from her lips. It was the 
cry of bitter sorrow, and it told how deep was her 
grief. A moment she stood there in silence, and then 
reaching up her arms, like a lost soul trying in vain 
to grasp the sunlight of Heaven, she drew them back 
again, and striking them sharply together, cried out: 

‘‘I am alone ! There is no kind hand to clasp my 
own. No loving voice to whisper in my ear, nor no 
kiss upon my lips ! and it was so beautiful ! I cannot 
live now after that grand dream ! Life is blank ! God 
is cruel !” then fearing she was wrong, she sank on 
her knees, and raising her hands up, she prayed : 

O Christ, send death to me ! I must die, and my 
life — my poor, wretched life — is in your hands ! Love 
has killed heart and soul ! Now, let this frail, useless 
form be hidden away from sight in the grave !” 

She sank fainting to the ground, and the remorseful 
heart of her lover, could bear no more. With a cry. 


FATIMA. 


99 


in which love and anguish and self-loathing were com- 
bined, he sprang to her side, and clasped her in his 
arms, and she struggled back from death to life ! She 
cried aloud for joy, and wept wildly and bitterly for 
sorrow ! At that moment, all the lire and passion of 
her peerless soul was stamped upon her beautiful, 
proud brow, as gazing into his eyes, she said : 

“ I know all. I understand the strength of the bar- 
rier that is between us. But great and strong as it is, 
what is its mightiness when compared to our\o\Q \ O, 
my life, my all, what shall the future be?” 

How dare you ask that question ?” he cried, in a 
sudden passion. “You know what the future is to 
be ! You have helped make past, present and future, 
and now you shall never leave me. I swear it by all 
the saints in Heaven !” and then, as he saw the mute 
look of horror settle in her eyes, he knelt before her, 
and taking both hands within his own, said plead- 
ingly : 

“ Listen to me, Fatima, and then tell me what you 
wish the future to be. You know that just so sure as 
we live and breathe, just so sure God intended us for 
each other. You know that no power on earth can 
change our love, and when life is ended, passion shall 
yet live. I do not believe that death ends all. Nor 
do I believe that to enter Heaven is the greatest bless- 
ing given unto man, for without you it would be 


100 


FATIMA. 


desolate ! I could be far happier in Hell with you ! 
Which shall it be % Grand human love and passion, 
with no thought of the end, or desolation and despair 
here, with no hopes of seeing each other, even 
When life is done?” and the hands clasping hers 
seemed molten through with consuming fire, burning 
into her very soul, numbing and bewildering her 
senses, leaving no will or power of her own, until like 
one in a mesmeric trance, she leaned against him, 
whispering : 

“ With you, with you forever ! Through the world 
will we roam side by side, and heart to heart ! Never 
leave me ! ” 

A darkness came before her eyes, and as in a dis- 
tance, strange and weird, she heard him say : 

‘‘ We dare not part. It would mean death for both 
of us. You were mine from the time that I first saw 
your face. Be mine till the last ! ” 

Was it but a fancy, or did the sound of angel 
voices, sad and sorrowful, float down to the two who 
preferred love and sin to peace and joy. Was it 
their echo, or the wail of the wind which said : 

‘‘ They Bare Not Part ! ” 


“ Still that music underneath 

Works to madness in my brain. 

Even the roses seem to breathe 
Poisoned perfumes, full of pain. 

“ Let me think . . , my head is aching. 

I have little strength to think. 

And I know my heart is breaking. 

Yet, O love, I will not shrink ! 

“ In his look was such sweet sadness. 

And he fixed that look on me, 

I was helpless . . . call it madness, 

Call it guilt . . . but it must be.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


*' Leave it nameless, the grave of the grief that is past ; 
Be its sole sign the silence we keep for its sakp. 

I have loved you — lie still in my heart till it break : 

As I loved, I must love to the last.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


Thy kiss, on my lips it is burning forever ! 

I cannot sleep calm, for my bed is so cold. 

Embrace me ! close . . . closer . . . O let us part never. 

And let all be again as it once was of old ! ” 

- Owen Meredith. 


I 


FATIMA, 


103 


CHAPTER Xiy. 



A BRIDGE OF FIRE. 

.Qx OFTLY the stars throbbed and beat in 
the azure breast of the night sky. 
Calmly the moon smiled down, serene and 
beautiful, and the dew-drops tenderly 
kissed the flowers, and they slept, secure 
and safe, ’neath the protecting rays. 

By the singing fount in the sweet-scented garden, 
her golden hair falling in a rich, wilful river down over 
her bare shoulders, knelt Fatima. As she raised her 
beautiful face up to the peaceful clouds, she seemed a 
desolate queen of sorrow, crowned by pitying angels 
with a diadem of stars, that alas, should have been 
thorns ! 

She dipped her hand into the waters of the fount, 
and passed her cool, moist Angers over her hot throb- 
bing brow, and tried, O so vainly, to think ! Slowly 
the great, bitter tears crept down her cheeks, and so 
flerce and cruel was the pain in her heart, that she 
fancied they were drops of blood ! 

‘‘ That cursed music,” she moaned. ‘‘ O God ! what 


104 


FATIMA. 


is it ? I hear it day and night, and it will drive me 
mad ! Even the breath of the roses seem to poison 
me. I want to think. 0, God, let me think ! I can- 
not ! What shall I do? My head is on lire, and my 
heart is like marble ! But they say that even marble 
sometimes will break. I wonder if marble ever sins ? 
I have sinned ! O, my God ? Sinned ! Did I say 
that I had sinned? When was it, and where? Ah ! 
I remember now ! But he said — ah ! what did he 
say? I have forgotten. O, Love! Love! Love!” 
and she ended with a perfect shriek of desolation and 
remorse. 

Long before the shriek had died away in mournful 
silence, he was at her side, and human passion drowned 
shame and remorse and thoughts of a better life in a 
deep and mighty sea of fire. There was a faint, low 
cry, as though all the angels in Heaven had joined in 
one last sad farewell, and that was all w^hich broke 
the silence, and it never broke it again ! 

“ There is a bridge before us,” he said, in a strained 
voice. “A high and almost endless bridge of lire, and 
together we must cross it. Are you afraid to go with 
me. Love?” and as he asked that question, he fixed 
his deep, passionate eyes upon her face, and she knelt 
before him, leaning her head against his limbs, and 
answered : 

“Afraid to go with you? No, but I am afraid to 


FATIMA, 


105 


be alone one moment. I cannot bear the silence and 
quiet when you are away from me. I want you with 
me all the time. We have both sinned. But sin with 
us, Love, is bliss untold, and virtue is Hell itself !” 

He raised her up, and, looking into the eyes up- 
lifted to his own, saw there a light such as comes but 
once into a woman’s soul, and thus shines in her eyes, 
reflecting like a mirror all she feels. ’Tis the supreme 
moment, when human love and passion sweeps all 
aside, and holds sway o’er heart and soul, whether it 
be right or wrong ! 

“ I am afraid to die !” she cried suddenly, clinging 
to him in nameless terror ; and I shall die if you leave 
me ! O, if you do love me, never, never let me go 
from the shelter of your clasping arms ! It will be sin, 
I know, but with you, sin is bliss !” 

She leaned her head upon his breast — silent for a 
moment, and weak with all a woman’s weakness ; 
then she pressed his warm hand against her cheek, 
and the electric thrill that tingled through every vein 
sealed her fate forever ! And the glittering waters 
tossed and fell — it was the only sound that disturbed 
the dream ! 

He could And no words to address her — this girl who 
was half angel, h-alf woman, and yet, O, pitying 
Christ, a fallen angel ! And she had* turned away her 
eyes, and stood with the moonlight falling aslant upon 


106 


FATIMA. 


her face, praying mutely, not for strength to resist, 
but for power to keep and hold his love until the 
dream was done. 

Was she wrong ? Ah ! who may say ? Love had 
come into her life, and taken far more from her than 
it brought to the eager passionate soul % The pure 
white light of her innocence, was blended with the 
deep, rich shade of ardent passion, and yet she was 
queen of this man’s heart ! No other woman’s image 
lingered with him day and night ! And as he looked 
down on her through the faint rain of the starlight, in 
a moment he was on his knees before her, praying 
humbly : 

“ Forgive me, my darling % What have I made you ? 
You, who were as pure in thought as the angels are, 
and yet, Grod help me, I cannot give you up !” 

A look of firm resolution swept over her face, then 
it gave place to a tender smile, and she said : 

‘‘You need not give me up Victor. I have made 
my choice, and what I say to-night shall go with us 
through life. I care not what the world will say, for 
to me the world is naught but coldness and sorrow. 
With you — ah, I cannot describe the joy of being near 
you ! Heart, soul and all I give unto you, and I only 
ask that your love for me may never grow cold. God 
gave us to each other. Why should we part ?” 

‘"We shall not part!” he cried, springing to his 


FATIMA. 


107 


feet and pressing her convulsively to his breast. ‘* No 
more doubts or fears can ever torture us after your 
sweet words. O Love ! you are right ! Grod did make 
us for each other, and everything is right ! We will 
go far away from this place, and try and forget that you 
are not my wife !” then seeing her shrink and quiver 
like a wounded dove, he kissed her, saying tenderly : 

“ In the sight of the angels and of Heaven you are 
my wife, and no power on earth can ever separate us ! 
You are so dear to me, that I forget all and everything 
when you are near,” aud looking into the deepening 
shadows in his dark eyes she knew that he spoke truly. 

Choking back a sob which arose in her throat, she 
whispered : 

” And 1 — ah, I fear that my love for you is too deep 
and mighty. All the long day my thoughts are stray- 
ing to you, and at night you are with me in my 
dreams. Your kisses burn my lips, and when I awake 
and find 'tis but a dream, I long for the morn that I 
may hear your voice. Otherwise, I would have the 
night last forever !” 

Softer and softer the summer wind murmured to the 
singing fount, on whose flower-strewn marge the tiny 
dew-drops lay. And the star-shine kissed the golden 
hair of the one who lived but for Love’s sweet sake ! 
But the sweetness and pleasure of the draught was 
marred by the forbidden fruit of sin ! 


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“ Sing they so, 

And you be silent ? Do I speak 
And you not hear? An arm you throw 
Round some one, and I feel so weak. 

Oh, owl-like birds ! They sing for spite, 

They sing for hate, they sing for doom ; 

They’ll sing through death who sing through night. 
They’ll sing and stun me in the tomb — 

The nightingales, the nightingales !’’ 

— Mrs. Browning 


‘ Well, I have left upon your mouth 

The seal 1 know must burn’ there yet ; 

My claim is set upon your youth ; 

My sign upon your soul is set : 

Dare you forget ?” 

— Owen Meredith, 


“ Her little bed is white as snow, — 

How dear that little bed ! 

Sweet dreams about the curtains go 
And whisper round her head. 

“ That gentle head sleeps o’er her arm 
— Sleeps all its soft gold hair : 

And those dear clothes of her’s, yet warm. 
Droop open on the chair. 

“Yet warm the snowy petticoat ! 

The dainty corset too ! 

How warm the ribbon from her throat. 
And warm each little shoe !’’ 

— Owen Meredith. 




FATIMA. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ DAEE YOU FORGET ? ” 

FAINT, subtle perfume stole dreamily over 
the brain of Fatima. She gasped for 
breath, and her tired lids drooped down 
over the luminous eyes so deep and blue. 
Beautiful, true eyes they were too, yet 
filled with such strange lights and shadows. 
So thought the one who, gazing longingly into their 
depths, saw there a wondrous glow — a faint spiritual 
glimmer, that his eyes, and his only, might discern. 
Heaven did not seem so far away from her at that 
moment. Human love and passion had become so 
softened and purified that she fancied her mother 
blessed their love and rejoiced with them in their hap 
piness. 

For a few short moments she almost forgot him — 
this man who held all in his hands — and then, as his 
arms again closed around her, straining her to his 
bosom, whose mad throbbing awoke a wild, delicious 
terror in her soul, she suddenly remembered^ and 
neither of them could speak for sheer joy ! 



112 


FATIMA, 


Then at last he spoke, and the sound was but a 
husky, panting semblance of his voice. Ah, how this 
grand, masterful passion of his had changed him ! 
And over her face a rich, warm flush stole as the 
thought flashed through her mind that never again 
would they part ! 

“ And you are mine !” he murmured. “ Mine for- 
ever ! To think of it ! No more long hours of waiting 
and watching until my heart grows cold ? Mine, even 
though it be a sin ! Can it be true ? My God ! what 
if it were a dream ? But no ! ’tis not a dream ! Are 
you one-half as glad to-night as I am ’ 

He had thrown back his handsome head and was 
gazing passionately down into the queen-like splendor 
of her uplifted face — into the warm, glowing radiance 
of her starry eyes, that meeting his ardent gaze sud- 
denly veiled themselves beneath the drooping, quiver- 
ing lids. 

“ I am so happy — O, so happy, that it makes me 
afraid!” she whispered, hiding her face against his 
breast, and breathing such rapid, warm breaths that 
they entered his heart and surged through his soul like 
some balmy, flower-laden wind, bearing on its mystic 
wings exquisite tokens of human love 1 

She was his own — this bonny, loving girl, whose 
young heart was pure one moment with holy thoughts, 
and the next stained with passion for her idol — his at 


FATIMA. 


113 


last, he was telling his soul, that seemed to be soaring- 
far away into some strange, unknown sphere of ecsta- 
sy, where Love held sway over all else ! His face 
paled a little at the thought. God ! What had he 
done? Almost roughly his arms tightened about that 
sinuous, swaying form. And the nightingales began 
to sing as though to drown both joy and pain ! 

The music came with the suddenness, the cruel 
thrust of a sword, and it seemed to arouse Fatima 
with a terrible shock, for she cried : 

“ Those nightingales ! Those nightingales ! O why 
do they sing so ? I cannot bear to hear them, for it 
brings back that awful hour when I thought that my 
poor heart had turned to marble ! They know our 
secret, and they will drive me to my grave with their 
cursed singing ! Why don’t you speak? O I wish 
they were all dead ! When I think everything is all 
right, and try to forget that one sin of oui s. they bring 
it all back again ! I wish that I could forget 

He looked at her a moment in silence, and stepping 
back, folded his arms, saying quietly : 

You want to forget. To blot out the remembrance 
of niy kisses and caresses. To have the many blissful 
hours that we have spent together become a blank. 
You would have these sweet, stolen hours seem never 
to have existed. And yet you say you love me! O 
Fatima 1 what have you said ? You dare not forget /” 


114 


FATIMA. 


As his dark magnetic eyes dwelt upon her, the sheer 
force of her warm loveliness had power to move him. 
Beneath the icy, saturnine front he had so suddenly 
assumed, the fiery lava-stream of his deep and mighty 
passion still rioted, and the adoring look with which 
his eyes met hers, frightened her, for it was so strong 
— so intense in its rapturous longing, that involunta- 
rily she reached out her hands to him, and once more 
love triumphed over honor ! Once more the nightin- 
gale’s happy song melted into a low, bitter sob, as the 
sweet-voiced feathered thing spread its dainty pinions 
and flew away, and the sky darkened as though in 
anger at the weakness of a woman’s heart ! 

And the woman stood there like a veritable piece of 
marble, all the rich, glowing colors of her matchless 
face gone, and her whole life and soul concentrated in 
her great, questioning eyes that were fastened in 
uncontrollable fascination on his face ! And this was 
the love for which men go mad and women die ! Love, 
for whose sake even the vales and heights that sepa- 
rate this life from Eternity are forgotten ! and yet ’tis 
called the crowning joy of all, but ah me. too often is 
the crown of cruel thorns ! 

***** 

* 

Sweet were the dreams that whispered round her 
golden head, which, j)illowed on her soft, bare arm, 
rested like a fallen buttercup upon a living bridge of 


FATIMA, 


115 


snow. The clinging silken quilt lay so closely to her 
beautiful limbs that their perfect contour was as 
clearly revealed as though they were timidly smiling 
and shrinking from the admiring gaze of one well 
beloved. One dimpled hand was nestled in the warm 
but half-hidden vale of her rose tinted bosom, whose 
flower-like beauty concealed the passion-laden heart 
throbs. Each lightly drawn fluttering breath that 
passed those velvety lips’ portals died away in faint, 
low echos like the music of a fairy harp, borue along 
on the murmuring winds of a still summer’s night. The 
mellow rays of moonlight crept in through the opened 
window, kissing with jeweled lips the sleeping girl, 
who dreamed of the one whose love had changed her 
whole current of existence. 

Was it the breeze of evening that moved aside the 
film -like curtains and let the starlight fall upon the 
fair face % Or was it something near and dear to the 
young girl’s heart? The roses and lilies bent their 
dewy heads to listen, and the night-winds ceased their 
sighing, for this is what they heard : 

Is it my own love, or is it an angel from Heaven ? 
And can it be that she is mine ? Mine forever ! Some 
day I shall have the blessed and sacred privilege of 
being near her when she sleeps. But not now. O not 
now ! Only a few days longer and then I may kneel 
by her side and guard her slumber. To-night I can 


116 


FATIMA, 


only gaze upon her from a distance, tortured by the 
maddening sight of her wondrous beauty ! Men have 
committed murder for women less fair than my dar- 
ling, while the only barrier that stands between us is 
what the world calls sin. Away with all such sin ! 
VV hat do I care for the world ? There is but one thing 
in the world that I care for, and that is the true* heart- 
ed golden haired girl before me ! She is my all, either 
on earth or in Heaven !” and as his voice ceased its 
tierce, passionate strain, away in the dim starry dis- 
tance he could hear a low sad burst of sweetly sorrow- 
ful music. 

His eyes rested lovingly on her discarded clothes, 
which yet warm, drooped open on a chair near the 
window. There was the snowy petticoat with its 
frosty flounces of lace, and lying across the chair-back 
in careless grace was the daint}^ corset, rich in rare 
embroidery, so suggestive of the fair owner. A deli- 
cate, lasting perfume, always used by her, still clung 
to the garments, even to the small bronze shoes, but 
to the one outside, this was all toiture. He could 
only stand and view this scene of beauty, longing and 
praying for the hour when she would be his own ! 

She seemed to feel his presence near, for the low, 
regular breathing melted into one long balmy sigh, 
and the film-like lace which covered her bosom droop- 
ed, half-timidly at first, and then fell fluttering to the 


FATIMA, 


117 


floor, where it lay like a drift of living snow, warmed 
into life and love by contact with her passion-kissed 
form, whose violet-hiied veins shone through the 
transparent satin skin like tiny trails of azure fire 
’neath pale pink rose leaves. And as the unseen 
lover gazed upon the picture of rich, warm loveliness, 
whose voluptuous beauty would have driven a man 
mad, she moved, and murmured some sweet, wild 
words in her sleep that struck a responsive chord with- 
in a listening nightingale’s breast, for a burst of liquid 
music filled the air, and the spell was broken ! 





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My heart is bitter lilies at your feet ; 

Why did the dew-drops fringe your chalices ? 
Why in your beauty are you thus complete, 

Yon silver ships — yon floating palaces? 

O ! if need be, you must allure man’s eye, 

Yet wherefore blossoms here ? O why ? O why ?” 

— Jean Ingelow. 


“ Fool, she haunts me still ! No wonder ! 

Not a bud on your black bed. 

Not a swated lily yonder. 

But recalls some fragrance fled ! 

Here, what marvel I should ponder 
On the last word which she said ?” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ And when she turned on me 
The sorrowing light of desolate eyes divine, 

I knew in a moment what our lives must be 
Henceforth. It lightened on me then and there. 
How she was irretrievably all mine, 

I her’s — through time, become eternity. 

It could not ever have been otherwise. 

Gazing into those eyes. ” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“I . . . but what’s the use of thinking ! 

There ! our nightingale begins — 

Now a rising note — now sinking 
Back in little broken rings 
Of warm song that spread and eddy — 

Now he picks up heart — and draws 
His great music, slow and steady. 

To a silver-centered pause !” 

• — Owen Meredith. 













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FATIMA. 


121 


CHAPTER XVI, 



A SOUL S LOSS. 

T is morn with its ever changing lights, 
and sweet wild-birds’ songs. And that 
same fresh hour of early morn finds Fati- 
ma lying full length upon the short, green 
grass, whose daisy-dotted breast feels cool 
and soothing to her feverish form. Her 
eyes, heavy with hot unshed tears, are fixed on the 
distant horizon, as listless and hopeless she lies there, 
waiting for something to come to her, she knows not 
what, but still so patiently waiting. 

Her fluffy golden hair she has shaken free, and her 
balmy bosom lies bare to the sun, whose warm rays 
dry the drops of dew that cling to her loosely falling 
robe, melting through where it softly caresses the fair 
flesh. Her face, wan, spiritual and unearthly in its 
ever-changing expressions, full of life, love and pride, 
and for its one shadow a secret sorrow, is raised as 
though in a prayer of supplication and entreaty to the 
skies. And the deep and mighty passion which rules 
her existence has done all this ! 


122 


FATIMA, 


“ I cannot, O I cannot commit this awful sin !” she 
moaned, covering her face with both hands, her whole 
frame shaking in an agony of grief and shame. “ O 
what shall I do ? Which way shall I turn for help % 
I want my mother ! I want her to come to me and 
tell me what is wrong ! Dear Christ, send her to me, 
just for one little moment !” she prayed, her anguish- 
ed face uplifted, as if she knew that angel mother 
could read the sorrow there written. 

‘‘He will not answer me !” fell from her lips in a 
low, bitter cry of hopeless pain, “ and I am lost, lost, 
lost ! My soul is doomed forevermore ! O, my God, 
my God !” 

She fell forward upon her face, and lay there mute 
and motionless, not even breathing, so cruel and bitter 
was her remorse. She prayed for death to come to 
her out there in the sunlight, and yet she was afraid 
to die ! and then, as the strong grief passed away, she 
clenched her hands together, crying fiercely : 

“ I never wish to look upon his face again ! When 
he is near, I forget both God and Heaven ! And when 
he looks into my eyes, I am his, body and soul ! O 
why did we ever meet ? I longed for love — prayed for 
it day and night, and O merciful Christ, what has it 
brought me 

As she asked that question of the smiling skies, it 
seemed as though a shadow swept over the sunlight, 


FATIMA. 


123 


and the wind began to weep. And another sound 
trembled on the air — a hoarse, half-smothered cry, 
which she did not hear, for she had arisen and was 
gliding swiftly away from the scene, her long, trailing 
robe leaving an uncertain pathway in the wet grass. 

“ I have lost her !” he cried, kneeling and kissing 
the crushed grasses where she had lain. ‘‘ Lost her, 
when I would have met death at her hands without a 
murmur or regret ! She wants to know what love has 
brought her % And I ask what has it brought into my 
life ? Aye, and I can answer it too ! First, a glimpse 
of Heaven, and then the red-hot coals of Hell ! But 
thank God that we did meet ! and we shaU meet again 
and again ! I swear it !” and as his glance wandered 
over the view which her presence had graced but so 
short a time before, he whispered hoarsely : 

Fool that I am ! She haunts me day and night ! 
There is not a flower — not a tree or shrub, but what 
speaks of her. And I know that she loves me. Never 
again shall I leave her. When I am with her, she is 
mine. When away from my side, it must be that her 
dead mother has power over her. I must have her 
with me. O, my Love, you are my guiding star ! My 
all !” 

****** 

The purple tinge of dying day was just fading in 
the far west, with all the beauty and grandeur of a 


124 


FATIMA, 


southern sunset. Calm, quiet and subdued was the 
entrancing picture of earth’s loveliness: the air was 
heavy with the sweetness of some alluring perfume, 
which like an invisible, mystic dream, crept unseen 
over the brain, awaking a vague, undefined longing 
within the worldly, pleasure-loving breast — a want, 
not satisfied by something heavenly and far removed, 
but a living, throbbing joy, in whose warmth and 
light all is real ! 

The sunset faded away from sight, and the starry 
canopy of night formed a curved dome over Fatima as 
she stood by the fount, her hands loosely clasped 
before her, and the tossing waters colored by the star- 
light, rising and falling around her. And he, standing 
at a distance, watching the lights and shades come and 
go upon her face, gazed in breathless silence on her 
matchless beauty, wishing that they had never met ! 
For she looked so pure — so angelic — standing there 
with the silver moon shining over her face through 
the jeweled rain of the star-shine, that passion gave 
place to reverence, and he forgot how dear she was to 
him, and then a pang shot through his soul, as he 
remembered the hearer she was to Heaven, the further 
she was away from him ! 

Something seemed to tell her that he was near for 
she turned, and as he beheld the light shining forth 
from her eyes, he knew that Love was conqueror, and 


FATIMA. 


126 


that no power on earth, or in Heaven or Hell, could 
change her idolatrous worship for him. She forgot 
her soul’s loss — forgot everything good and pure, as 
she felt herself clasped in his arms once more, and his 
lips upon her own, while their fierce heart-throbs beat 
madly together ! 

“O you siren— you milk-white pantheress !’' he 
panted, holding her tightly to his side. “One 
moment you are like an angel from Heaven and I am 
afraid to come near or touch you. because you look so 
holy — so sacred ! and then you change as if by magic, 
and I can read your very thoughts ! I know what you 
fear, and what you are thinking of and what you are 
afraid of ! And I know that you are mine, mine, 
mine ! Why, I have kissed you often enough to make 
you mine a thousand times over ! And I am going to 
kiss you so many times more, that even your mother 
will not recognize you, should you ever meet her ! She 
never can love you one half so well as I do ! and you 
belong to me !” 

A low, half-stifled delirious cry broke from her lips, 
and putting up both hands, as if to protect herself 
from the fire of his kisses that fell upon her face like 
burning hail, she whispered : 

“ I . . . O let the nightingales tell it all ! You 

know what I would say ! They will sing of our love, 
and ours only, and silent we will be !” 


126 


FATIMA. 


Breathless and motionless they both stood, no sound 
breaking the stillness of the night, save the nightin 
gale’s song and the rapid heart-throbs of the two who 
lived but for the blinding, alluring dream, whose 
awakening was destined to be so soon ! In the ripple 
of the fount the echo was hidden. The stars saw the 
shadow but they gave no word of warning, and the 
angel mother meekly folded her white wings, and 
turned away ! 



“ But one hour ago we parted. 

And we meet again to-morrow, 

Parted — silent and sad-hearted 

And we meet — in guilt and sorrow. 

“ But we shall meet' . , . meet, O God, 

To part never . . . the last time ! 

Yes ! the Ordeal shall be trod. 

Burning ploughshares — love and crime. 

“ O with him, with him to wander 

Through the wide world — only his ! 

Heart and hope and Heaven to squander 
On the wild wealth of his kiss !” 

— Owen Meredith. 


“ He is mine till death,” she murmur’d to the stars, 

And o’er her bosom clasp’d the hands so white and thin. 
‘ ‘ Heart, soul and life will I lay at his feet. 

For O my love, my love ’tis not a sin !” 

— Author. 


If I fail to find her out by her gold tresses, 

Brows, and breasts, and lips, and language of sweet strains, 
I shall know her by the traces of dead kisses, 

And that portion of myself which she retains.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


\ 


M 


FATIMA, 


129 


CHAPTER XVIL 


‘‘’tis the bitterness of death. 



N night’s still wings, a silver shower of 
starlight comes softly down, and a finer 
fragrance haunts the dewy closes of the 
impassioned hour. A softer, saintlier 
glory folds Heaven and earth as they take 
up the golden thread of Love’s sweet story 
beneath the blossom -weighed boughs of a great mag- 
nolia. Some restless birds chirp in a leafy bower ; 
then all is still. 

The breeze shakes from the oleander thicket a 
shower of scented bloom which rests on the summer 
brightness of Fatima’s hair, like a dash of summer 
sunset tinged with rose. So like a lily in its slender 
whiteness is the swaying form, that the birds all cease 
their songs and look and listen. Her drooping, flower- 
face thrills the conscious roses with a tremor of 
delight. Her dreaming brain groj)es as in a mist, and 
a delightful helplessness pervades her trembling 
limbs, for the hour has come when heart and soul 
winged by the tempest of undying love and passion, 


130 


FATIMA, 


sees but one harbor in the distance, and that is in the 
clasping arms of the man she loves ! 

He looked down into the matchless blue eyes that 
sought his own with a loving tenderness ; he laid his 
hand softly on the drift of golden hair, and he kissed 
the rose-red lips that for many days had fed his pas- 
sion with passionate kisses, for which he would have 
given his very life. She passed one white hand over 
his face, whispering in a trembling voice : 

“Victor, you know how I love you, and to morrow 
we meet again never to part. Side by side, and heart 
to heart we shall live, aye, and die ! I am yours, body 
and soul ! and you — 0, my darling, tell me that you 
are mine ! Mine, forever and forever !” 

“God hears my answer,” he said, lifting his hand 
up to the starry sky. 

“ And if I prove untrue or unkind to you may He 
punish me as I deserve. My love for you shall never 
grow cold ! O Fatima, my bonny love — my queen — 
my all — can you not trust me?” 

“ Yes, O yes,” she cried eagerly, as she clasped both 
hands over his arm, “and surely God is not cruel 
enough to wish us to part. How could I live on 
without him ?” and she looked up through the sway- 
ing boughs of the magnolia, as if she expected the 
green rustling foliage would answer her question. 

Her mother must have come to her at that moment, 


FATIMA, 


131 


for she uttered a low, sobbing cry, and reaching up 
her hands murmured piteously : 

It is all right I know. He is mine, and I am his. 
Heart, soul and all belong to him, and it is not sin !” 
and she folded both hands, which looked like trans- 
parent wax, over her heaving breast, while the sad 
notes of some lone night bird filled the air. 

She had stood there but a few fleeting moments, 
dreaming of his last embrace, when the vision become 
a reality, for she was again in his arms, and she heard 
his voice crying out : 

Love, do you know why 1 am here beside you once 
more ? Can you think what has brought me to your 
side again? and something like a huge rock seemed to 
settle down over her heart as she saw the new light 
within his dark eyes. 

I am free P'' he whispered hoarsely, pressing her 
convulsively to his breast. ‘‘ She is dead, and all these 
long weary days that I have been tortured and con- 
sumed by what I thought was unholy love, she has 
been lying in her grave ! And you might have been 
my wife had I but known! Fool that I am 1 But 
now no barrier is between us! No hidden sin shall 
lie within our lives, for I am free ! ” 

She shuddered, when he uttered the word “grave,” 
and he noticed it, for as he looked down at her, the 
golden head with its crown of lily-buds now all 


132 


FATIMA. 


drooped and dead, fell forward upon his bosom and 
lay there like some heavy leaden jewel, crushed from 
its setting. A faint low sound fell from her quivering 
lips, and he heard her whisper : 

“I know, I know. But go and leave me. I want 
to be alone. When you come again to-morrow the 
sun will shine, and everything will look fair and 
bright. Now I must be alone and think, or I shall go 
mad ! I am not afraid to go with you. But I want 
to be alone to-night. Remember, dear, that ’tis the 
last time we part while life shall last,” and the burn- 
ing blush that mantled neck and brow was half joy — 
half shame. 

He left her standing there alone in the midst of all 
the beauty and sweetness of the night, and as he turn- 
ed, and cast one lingering look back upon her, an icy 
fear settled around his heart. A dense, lowering 
cloud seemed to envelope her form, shutting her out 
from his sight. He made an effort to tear himself 
away from the scene which her presence rendered 
doubly sweet, and at last succeeded ! 

And she left there alone, clasped both hands over 
her wildly throbbing heart as if to stifle the thrilling 
throbs of passion, and whispered : 

‘‘We have parted for the last time. It will be a 
sin — a dark, unpardonable sin I know — but he needs 
me so much ! I have grown into his life, and God 


FATIMA, 


138 


help me, I cannot give him up. O Victor, death and 
that alone can separate us ! His heart was so sore — 
so empty — before I came into his life, that my love 
has been as a healing balm to him.” 

A wild thrill, half joy, half terror, shot through her 
trembling form and she fled through the darkness like 
a startled deer, the faint, low sound of her footsteps 
coming to him with a sad hopeless echo. Somehow the 
vision of a grave arose* before him and it seemed a 
greater barrier than the face and form of a living woman 
had ever been. A cold shudder crept over him, and he 
glanced quickly around him as he whispered, crouch- 
ing low like a guilty thing or one in pain : 

‘‘What is it? I am haunted! I feel as though a 
dead hand was clutching at my heart 1 God ! Am I 
never to have a moment’s peace ? ” and then springing 
to his feet, he passed one hand over his brow mur- 
muring : 

“But she shall not come between our two hearts 
and souls, with her cold, dead hands. O my darling ! 
if you were a thousand miles away, I should know you 
by the glint of sunlight that must shine from your 
golden hair ! Know you, and love yon even as I do 
now. And should that fail, the trace of kisses that 
have passed between our lips, would tell me who you 
were. If we meet in Heaven I should see my soul, 
riveted so closely to yours, that if one must be ban- 


134 


FATIMA. 


ished to the pits of Hell, the other must go too ! And 
that is the love which I bear for you ! ” and the rest- 
less waters of the fount, seemed to say; “That is 
love.” 



“ Gone ! 

Gone till the end of the year, 

Gone, and the light gone with her and left me in shadow here ! 

Gone — flitted away, 

Taken the stars from the night and the sun from the day ! 

Gone, and a cloud in my heart, and a storm in the air ! 

Flown to the east or the west, flitted I know not where ! 

Down in the south is a flash and a groan : she is there ! she is there ! ” 

— Tennyson. 


Yes, ’tis she ! Those eyes ! that hair 
With the self-same wondrous hue ! 
And that smile — which was so fair, 

Is it strange I deemed it true ! ’’ 

— Owen Meredith. 


“For me, you say, the world is wide — 

Too wide to find the grave I seek ! 
Enough ! Whatever now betide. 

No greater pang can blanch my cheek. 
Hush ! Do not speak.” 

— Owen Meredith. 


And the southern roses will 'list for her footsteps in vain, 
The white lilies will droop 'neath the palm trees’ shade ; 
But the sound of her voice they’ll not hear again. 

For her life, like the flow’rets must droop and fade. 

— Author. 


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FATIMA. 


137 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE END OF THE DREAM. 



HE nightingales were silent. The singing 
waters of the garden fount rose and fell 
’neath the the noellow moonbeams, and 
the tall magnolias broke the line where earth 
and sky seemed to meet, and blend in one 
long line of floating clouds and emerald 
tinged foliage. Calm and motionless in her 
dream like splendor the dainty, marble form of the 
“ Siren,” yet stood, her uplifted arms stretched plead- 
ingly it seemed up to the starry Heavens. 

Was it but farlC3^ or did her cold breast heave with 
a half-smothered sob as the now happy lover came in 
sight, a new, glad light shining forth from the eyes, 
which so short a time before had been blinded with 
the hot bitter tears that only a man in sorrow can 
shed? Did a moan arise as the moon went under a 
cloud or was it the rustle of the passion-flower stirred 
by the soft night wind? Ah, who may say? Not 
you ; not I. Perhaps it was an echo from the dead, 
who still loved her idol, though loving in vain, for 


138 


FA TIMA. 


human love and passion is so deep and mighty in its 
all-ruling and all-absorbing power — so sweet and 
strong — that even the grave may often fail to blot out 
the dear remembrance. How hard must be the 
struggle for the departed soul to forget the one whom 
they have loved ! To leave the warm embrace and 
passionate kiss for even the lights and glories of 
Paradise ! To give up without a murmur of regret all 
that goes to make life’s short dream a flower-decked 
pathway between the cradle and the grave, and at 
that final hour feel in place of living dearly beloved 
fingers, a dim, spiritual hand clasp from beyond the 
distant heights ! And yet men talk of death as a 
holy, soothing balm, coming in the night of woe bring- 
ing peace and joy to weary ones ! And so to one worn 
and heartsick with sorrow and long deferred hopes, 
death is welcome, but not to the happy hearts blessed 
with the precious gift of human love ! 

He came into the garden, this man who was so sure 
that the girl he loved was near by, waiting to meet his 
burning kisses with her own passionate ones, and when 
he beheld her not, a shadow swept over his face. 
Something white gleamed ’neath the oleander tree, 
and at first he thought it was a part of her robe, then 
as the moon shone brighter and clearer, he saw it was 
a tiny folded note, lying there like a piteous message 
from a lost soul. 


FATIMA, 


139 


A siiarp, bitter pain surged through his heart at 
sight of (he innocent little bit of paper, and wiih 
trembling hands he lifted it up, and hurriedly read 
the loving despairing words — words full of a wild, bit- 
ter, passionate pain — words written in the early dawn 
of the day which was to be the beginning of a new life 
to the poor tortured girl’s heart and soul. And this 
was the letter that he read, standing in the midst of 
the sensous sweetness, where the brief dream had lived 
and died. 

“You said, Victor, that you were coming to-day, and 
that no power on earth should ever part us. To-day, 
we were to have been miles away from the scenes 
fraught with memories both sad and sweet. But I saw 
it all — saw year after year of the future stretching out 
before me— saw, my own darling, what you never can 
— and I was not strong enough to face the sorrows and 
pains. It is all my fault — I have come into your life, 
and what have I been to you % A curse — the most 
awful curse that ever man was tortured with ! I asked 
God for love — prayed for it day and night on my 
bended knees. And He gave it to me ! Now, I ask 
Him to take it from my heart and soul ! And I want 
you to help Him ? I want you to try and hate me ! 
And you will try, won’t you % Sometimes I hate you. 
Then, in a moment, you are my lover as of old. But 
I must not talk of love ! O, Victor ! I must not — I 


140 


FATIMA, 


cannot tell you what I am afraid of ! I am going 
away — going out of your life, and for the sake of what 
we once were to each other, never, O never, seek me ! 
Curse me, when you read this, and ask Grod to keep 
us apart forever, for should we meet again, I know 
that you could — O, no, no, no ! It must never be !” 

Like a falling snowllake the letter dropped from his 
quivering hand to the ground, and he stood like a 
living statue, all color gone from his face, and with 
eyes blazing like seas of tire, in whose depths hopeless 
anguish, uncontrollable love and bitter hatred mingled 
together. He caught his breath with a gasp of pain, 
as though a loved hand had thrust a dagger into his 
wounded heart, and then whispered blankly : 

Gone % Where ? My God ! what does it all mean % 
Shall I ever see her again ? Curse her ! No, no ! God 
forgive me ! Gone ! and the light has gone with her, 
and I am left here alone ! Where shall I seek her % I 
must find her, for I cannot live without her. She has 
taken all the brightness from the sun. Even the stars 
forget to throb in the night sky so deep and sorrowful 
is their loss. And ’tis my loss too ! But I shall find 
her!” he cried, suddenly starting up and raising his 
hot face up to the dome of beauty above him. ‘‘ Find 
her, and make her my own again ! I swore once that 
nothing should part us, and I cannot break my word ! 
If we may not live together, then we will die, and 


FATIMA, 


141 


death would not be so terrible as it would to face it 
alone. Fatima ! Fatima !” 

* * * Hz * ^ 

The basking earth, the hot unwinking sun seemed 
enveloped in a soft, blue haze that made all things 
lazy and subdued. A few gentle leaves fluttered 
anear. and fanned the sluggish air into faint breezes, 
and Fatima, half-cronching, half kneeling, reclined in 
the midst of all this luxurious sensuousness, her per 
feet form heavy with an indolent grace. Each round 
limb which a tiny, bubbling stream nearby had kissed, 
made one think of dainty marble columns, twined, 
with robes of priceless pearls, so like jewels were the 
sparkling drops of water that clung to the delicately 
tinted flesh. It was as if an artist’s hand had carved 
from unfeeling marble something so beautiful and sug 
gestive that life was in the magic touch, and at last 
thrilled through the wondrous vision, coloring with 
warm, rich shadows heart and soul ! Her golden hair 
swei)t in wavy, sleepy tresses round her head, and as 
her breath stiried them, like a broken river of gold 
did they appear. 

She was far away from her home, where love had 
come and gone, bringing so much to her, and yet taking 
so much fi'om her. and as she lifted her flower face 
with its ever-changing rose-tints up to Heaven, she 
whispered softly : 


142 


FA TIMA, 


‘‘Mother, am I right? I am trying,. 0 ! so hard, to 
do what is right and forget him, but God help me, ’tis 
so bitter! I* have been wrong — have committed an 
unpardonable sin — but it was through love for him. It 
was not because my heart was bad, far from it. Dear 
Jesus, thou who canst forgive all sinners, forgive me 
in this hour of regret and repentance.” 

She was like a little, pleading child in her sweet 
humility, and a holy light, something like the one 
which used to shine in her. baby eyes, came back again 
and illuminated her whole face. All the wild storm of 
passion which had blistered heart and soul was gone 
from her now, and the strong, wayward woman was as 
a confiding babe once more. She buried her face in 
her hands, mutely trusting and praying in a voiceless 
prayer to the God above for help and strength. 

And in that moment, when Heaven was so near, he 
beheld her. Mile after mile had he followed her, and 
day by day he had sought her, and at last he found 
her ! His heart gave a great bound of triumph when 
his eyes rested passionately upon the vision of beauty, 
while he whispered : 

“ Yes, ’tis she, and I have found her at last ! Did 
I not say that we should meet again 1 Ye Gods ! 
What a sight for an artist she would be with that frail 
drapery of gauze, which only heightens but not con- 
ceals her exquisite form ! And those eyes ! That hair ! 


FATIMA, 


143 


Is it strange I dreamed of her long years before we 
met ! Is it any wonder that I deemed her true ? And 
she must, she shall be true 

She seemed to feel that he was near, and springing 
to her feet stood panting and breathless, like a fright- 
end fawn about to leap wildly from danger, but before 
she could even move, he was at her side, his arms were 
about her, and he was crying out : 

‘‘ And I have found you ! O, Fatima ! how could 
you wrong me so ! You might better have stabbed 
nje to the heart ! But I vowed that you should not 
escape me, and I have kept my word !” 

“Hush!” she moaned piteously, “ O, for God's 
sake, be silent ! Don’t you know that it can never be ? 
Did I not tell you to curse me, instead of loving me ? 
and yet you will not leave me in peace! O, you are 
cruel, cruel !” and she ended with a wild burst of 
tears. 

A scowl, black as the starless midnight hour, swept 
over his face, and before he could speak, she cried 
wildly : 

''Listen to me, and then curse me if you will! I 
tell you that I want you to hate me ! J can never be 
your wife ! I am a woman. You are a man. And 
all men are cruel even to the woman they love. O ! 
you do not know how a woman feels ! And you can 
not know what love means to her ! O ! why did you 


144 


FATIMA. 


not let me go in peace, instead of following me and 
dragging me down to Hell !” and as he was about to 
speak, she pushed aside his clasping arms, whispering 
hoarsely : 

O, that grave ! My God ! how that ghastly mound 
haunts me ! I am afraid of her! If she had lived I 
would have gone with you and stayed with you for- 
ever and no power on earth should ever have parted 
us ! Once you said that there was nothing in Heaven 
or Hell that you feared ! But now there is ! She is 
there I And even if you belonged to me here on earth, 
why when we died, if we went to Heaven, she would 
belong to you and you would belong to her 1 And I 
know that you and I could never enter Heaven, and 
then she would follow us right down into Hell! O! 
no, no, no ! It can never be ! We must part to-day, 
forever !” 

He uttered not one word, but stepping back, looked 
into the face which drooped and paled ’neath his 
searching glance, while he said : 

“I want you to swear before God that you mean 
what you say, and then ask him to forgive you for all 
the anguish and suffering you have caused me. 0, 
the Hell — the horrible Hell which you have made for 
me ? And I loved you so ! O, Fatima, Fatima !” 

She never once heeded that last piteous wail, but 
calmly lifting her right hand, said solemnly : 


FATIMA, 


145 


“ As Gcd hears me, I mean every word that I have 
uttered. And may he forgive me for wrecking yonr 
life,” and like an echo from a long-forgotten song, the 
faintest shadow of fond memory rang through her 
brain, and impulsively she turned to him, laying one 
hand upon his arm, half -sobbing : 

‘‘ Forgive me too ! O, Victor! the world is wide, 
and — 

“ Hush I” he said, interrupting her almost roughly, 
and shrinking from her touch, as though the hand he 
once loved hurt him. “O for God’s sake be silent! 
And so the world is wide — too wide and dreary for me 
to find rest ! I am going away from your side to-day 
— away from your kisses and embraces, and by and 
by I may find a spot where I can lie down contented, 
and sleep. But it will be in some place where your 
feet have pressed the grasses down, and that will make 
my slumbers more peaceful and quiet. I want to rest 
in some still, sweet nook, where the wind will whisper 
your name, for if I may not have you near me when 
living, I can dream of you when I am dead.” 

She was softly weeping now, but he well knew that 
he could never hope to change her from her purpose. 
His own eyes filled with tears, and he murmured 
gently : 

“I want to bid you farewell with a kiss — the last 
kiss Fatima, and I do not want to hear the sound of 


146 


FATIMA, 


your voice for it is so changed — so cold and strange. 
I shall remember you by the touch of your soft lips 
on my own. Will you kiss me 

She raised her face, so like a white lily which had 
been mourning ’neath a chilling rain, and her perfect 
mouth, though red and beautiful as carved coral, was 
just as cold and expressionless. He bent and kissed 
her once, and the unresponsive touch struck a chill to 
his very soul, for without even looking upon her fatal 

beauty he turned away, passing out of her life forever. 
* * * * * 

’Neath the sunny, southern skies she is watching 
and waiting, and for what? In her far-away home, 
the roses listen in vain. The white lilies droop and 
die with longing and the starry-eyed mocking bird 
peers wistfully through the palm trees, wondering in 
mute surprise at her absence. Sadly and sweetly, 
and yet with a ring of hope in its liquid, silvery song, 
the nightingale calls day and night from the fragrant 
boughs of the magnolias, and in the garden, where 
passion’s dream floated on the perfumed air, the 
fount still plays on, and the marble face of the “Siren” 
wears a sadder and wiser look, as though she knew all ! 







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